


We Meet Again

by round_robin



Series: Time Stops For No Witcher [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Canonical Character Death, Come Marking, Come Shot, Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Destiny, Diners, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Gentle Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortality, Jaskier's family, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Memories, Minor Character Death, Modern Continent (The Witcher), Modern Era, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Aiden/Lambert, Past Drug Use, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Past Lives, Polyamory, Reincarnation, Rimming, Scenting, Sex Shop, Sub Lambert (The Witcher), The Witcher Lore, Top Eskel (The Witcher), Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Voyeurism, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: Cornflower blue eyes, messy brown hair swept across his forehead, wide shoulders, instrument callouses on his fingers, and a smile that brought light to the darkest places of Geralt's heart, Jaskier smiled down at him. Geralt blinked. He hadn't dozed off at the wheel, he was here, sitting in a diner, staring at Jaskier. His eyes flicked to the man's name tag, clipped to the apron around his waist instead of up near his shoulder. Neat calligraphy spelled out Jaskier.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Series: Time Stops For No Witcher [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811986
Comments: 704
Kudos: 816
Collections: The Modern Witcher AU Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been teasing a modern AU fic on my tumblr for a while (don't know if anyone pays attention, but I have been doing it). Well, here it is. It was turning into a monster of a fic, so I finally broke down and made it a series. Modern AU, but modern Continent. So, all the same places and names that we know, just in our time right now... ish. I haven't seen anything like that before, so I hope everyone enjoys my take on it. I saw a tumblr post about Jaskier working in a diner and it all clicked together for me. Also, since this got too big to be one fic and is now a series, be advised: it's big, so strap in. Major character death is included because it's been like eight hundred years on their timeline... a lot of people died from old age.
> 
> Think I've mentioned it before, but I am American. A lot of my references will be very American, like the diner food. I know other areas in the Witcher universe are supposed to be analogues for other countries (Toussaint is France, you get it) and I definitely like the feel of that, but as far as Geralt finding a diner goes, I only know how American diners work. I also used to write in the Supernatural fandom, and the parallels between Witchers and hunters is very easy for me to cling on to, so if this feels like a Supernatural fic to start... yeah, kinda. More tags to be added as I update chapters.
> 
> I really hope everyone enjoys my take on the modern AU, I tried writing a different one, but had trouble connecting with these great characters in our world. Setting them in their own world but with modern touches worked a lot better for me, and I hope it works for everyone else too. Please enjoy, let me know if you find a typo and it'll be seen to :)
> 
> UPDATE: I finally figured out who made the tumblr post that helped this story click together for me. jerry-of-rivia and their amazing fan art of Geralt in the modern world, still a Witcher, going to a Denny's. [This post](https://jerry-of-rivia.tumblr.com/post/619748213643198464/i-happened-to-be-looking-forlistening-to-a-bunch) and this art heavily inspired the first part of this series, and I'm so happy I found it again so I can give props where props are due :)

The engine groaned and Geralt with it. Just a few more miles, and then he could investigate the noise. It was probably nothing, but might be an actual problem. Older vehicles like his were resilient but he had to keep on top of it. The 1977 Scout II Traveler had seen him through some difficult journeys, he took care of it the way he took care of Roach after Roach, until the world moved too far beyond him and a vehicle became necessary—a gas powered vehicle, that is.

He saw the lights of a town up ahead and pushed a little harder on the pedal, urging the Scout on. The few streetlights threw crooked shadows across his dash, illuminating the sea of pictures taped to the aluminum. It started out with one or two, the important ones: a picture of Ciri's portrait, the original kept safe in Yennefer's climate controlled storage. Every year for Belleteyn, Geralt made the long trip to Yennefer's rooms at Aretuza, where they spent the night sipping wine, staring at the portrait of their daughter so long dead. It wasn't right for a parent to outlive their child, which is why Geralt often thought it a blessing he couldn't have children. Ciri was a Child Surprise in so many ways...

The next photo was the oldest, the most cracked and faded. Geralt still had the negative at home somewhere, might be time to print another, if he found some hipster with an enlarger. Chestnut brown with a little gray around the mouth, Roach's soulful eyes looked back at him from the faded paper, the last Roach. Damn, he didn't even remember her number, he'd had so many war horses over the centuries, finally saying goodbye to her for good in the late fifties. Or was it the early sixties? He couldn't remember anymore, had too much life to remember in the first place.

The next three photos were very similar, but no less important. Lambert and Eskel leaning on the Scout, Geralt between them. They took the same photo every year since cameras and pictures became affordable enough for them to splurge a little. The background changed, the clothes were different, but they weren't. Hundreds of years ago, when the only way to capture their fucked up little family involved sitting for an artist for hours or days, they never saw the point of it. They remembered what they looked like, met every year to spend most of the winter in Geralt's house after Kaer Morhen fell to rubble a hundred or so years ago. But as soon as it was the work of a few minutes to take a picture, you better believe Geralt hauled them in front of a camera. He never had a picture of Ciri that he could carry around in his pocket, didn't even have a painting of Jaskier to remember him by, so yes, Lambert and Eskel were going to take a family photo with him every year, and they were going to like it.

He had tons of photo albums at home, going back to the late eighteen hundreds, Lambert scowling, Eskel with his neutral calm, and Geralt there in the middle, completing their family, the last of their family... the last Witchers on the Continent.

After Vesemir died, none of them expected to last long. Another century, tops, never long enough to show their age the way Vesemir had. Geralt was fine with that, two hundred years and change seemed right, it was more than most Witchers got, and with monsters becoming scarcer and scarcer, they were pulled into wars more often than they all cared to be. The first time Geralt retired to his vineyard, he did it knowing the world would survive without him.

A few other Witchers popped by now and again, other than Eskel and Lambert, who practically moved in when they saw how much space he had. There were so few left to begin with, most wanted to come and marvel at Geralt, the one who got out. A few Cats came by, the last of the Bears. Some made the journey every few years, checking to see if retirement had killed off the White Wolf.

Grayson, School of the Bear, was the last Witcher to visit Corvo Bianco, his hair and beard as gray as Vesemir's. When he set eyes on Geralt, he shook his head. “Fucking figures. Haven't aged a day.”

“Hmm, must be all this good country air. Staying for supper?”

Geralt tried to keep his troubled mind from showing on his face during Grayson's visit, but even he had never realized... he wasn't aging. Hadn't in some time. At first, Geralt put it down to the extra mutations, gave him a longer shelf life. But the next time he saw Eskel and Lambert, they looked the same too, and not in the way one barely notices the people around them aging, they looked _exactly_ the same. Lambert's black hair, dark as ever, Eskel's scarred face without the hint of a wrinkle. By the time they all realized something different was happening, it was too late. They were the last three, truly alone once again.

Age had yet to find them. Geralt went from worried about it, to resigned, to worried again every few decades. Eskel seemed bothered by it the most, like it was some bit of magic that escaped his understanding. On a long enough time line, Eskel understood all magic he came across, except this: why they were always constant, always in stasis. For what? Destiny was done with them, they played their part, so why keep them around? Three Wolves, but no other Witchers? What made them so special?

“We're the best,” Lambert always said when they had too much to drink. “School of the Wolf, best fucking Witchers out there. No one ever matched us, and now no one ever will!” Eskel nodded and smiled and dragged Lambert to bed, because they all knew he had to say it like that to cover up the agony. Lambert hated this life the most, and now they seemed to be stuck in it forever.

Geralt almost broke down and asked Yen if she'd done something. Roach was packed, he was going to make the trip to Aretuza where she was currently cooling her heels, and demand to know what she'd done to them. First, she'd tell him she had nothing to do with it, then complain about Destiny fucking her over, why shouldn't it do the same to him? He was prepared for anything Yennefer might throw at him, and had a counter argument for her to just let them age and fucking die already, they were done.

Then, the Third Conjunction of the Spheres hit, pouring more monsters and more chaos over the continent. It appeared Destiny was not done with them and Geralt picked up his swords once again.

With fewer Witchers and more monsters, they did not lack for work. Still, rucking up to a town and saying “I'm a Witcher, hear you've got a drowner problem,” was a fraught affair, drawing more confused looks these days than open hostility. Once the Continent collectively dusted off the old texts and remembered _oh yes, Witchers solve monster problems_ , they all set to work. The world aged around them, changing and morphing as they stayed the same, they learned to change with it just enough to stay relevant. Geralt took a decade off here and there, when it became too much, sometimes Lambert or Eskel joined him, but there were more monsters in the dark, always lurking, and the people cried out for a Witcher to come save them.

The noise from the Scout didn't return and Geralt stomach started to growl. Maybe that was the noise he heard in the first place, sometimes it was hard to tell. More work meant more coin and Geralt rarely wanted for food now-a-days. The future brought good changes, but Geralt would trade it all for one more day with his daughter, sitting together at Kaer Morhen, Jaskier strumming softly as they all lounged around the fire...

The town was just a little spit of a thing, one of those places that existed to be a rest so people didn't die on a country back road, killed by a werewolf or just plain murdered by the greed of men. Geralt saw a gas station with a small mechanic shop, a post office, a convenience store, and a diner. His stomach growled again but he had to check the Scout first. Popping the hood, he poked around and saw nothing amiss. Probably just the groan of an old vehicle feeling its age. He patted the hood. “We'll change the oil soon, that'll make you feel better.”

Talking to the Scout was never as satisfying as talking to Roach, whose brown eyes looked back at him, who bumped her head into his shoulder like she wanted to tell him to stop being an idiot. The Scout was a good vehicle, but the most it had ever done for him was stall before he had a chance to drive off the side of a hill his over tired mind didn't see.

Vehicle taken care of, Geralt headed towards the diner, the neon in the window easily the brightest light in town. _Burgers! Fries! Shakes!_ the lights declared. Geralt's stomach growled again. He felt for his wallet, fat with crowns after his last job cleaning out a den of Dire Bears in the nearby nature preserve. Dire Bears weren't a huge problem on their own, until they started breeding with the local wild life, making all sorts of mixed temperaments, and soon enough, a town had a lot of very resilient, very large bears roaming around that didn't give a flying fuck about the shotgun the local farmer pointed their way.

The bell over the door jingled and the smell of heat and food hit Geralt like a wave. His sighed deeply. There was a wonderful feel to a diner in the middle of the night, Geralt felt more at home in that setting than anywhere else. The transitive nature of a diner, always folks going from one place to another with a few locals mixed in, it matched the feel of the taverns of old, with the slight advantage that most people in a diner were happy to leave you be if that's what you wanted. No snot nosed local lordling to stop over and ruin a meal.

“Sit anywhere!” a voice called from the back. “I'll be right out!”

Geralt slid into a booth on the far side of the diner where he could look out the window and watch the door at the same time. The bathroom was behind him, and as a rule, he didn't like his back to any door, but in the middle of the night, only one other customer in the whole place, it was a risk he was willing to take. He pulled a menu out from behind the ketchup bottle and looked it over. Standard diner fair, but hunger was the greatest spice and Geralt set his eyes on the meat lovers breakfast platter—two eggs, two slices of toast, sausage links, bacon, and two slices of grilled ham. With a country fried steak to follow, and then he'd think about dessert.

 _Don't burn it all on food,_ the old voice in the back of his mind said. He hadn't had to worry about money in a very long time—centuries maybe. It turned out the smallest sum transformed into a mountain after long enough. Sure, it got a little tight if he was hunting in the middle of nowhere for too long, no banks nearby to get some quick cash, but Geralt still knew how to hunt for his dinner, and deer were never in short supply. There were always farmers looking to trade for that nice pelt he suddenly had. He managed well enough.

He heard the server (male by the sound of his footsteps, solid body, light step, probably someone who knew how to dance and move their weight effectively) heading towards him and closed the menu. A cup of coffee appeared in front of him. “See anything you like?” A shiver ran down Geralt's spine at the voice, an oh so familiar voice.

His head snapped up, mouth falling open as blue eyes smiled down at him. Cornflower blue. Messy brown hair swept across his forehead, wide shoulders, instrument callouses on his fingers, and a smile that brought light to the darkest places of Geralt's heart, _Jaskier_ smiled down at him. Geralt blinked. He hadn't dozed off at the wheel, he was here, sitting in a diner, staring at Jaskier. His eyes flicked to the man's name tag, clipped to the apron around his waist instead of up near his shoulder. Neat calligraphy spelled out _Jaskier_.

Geralt jumped back in the booth, his elbow knocking over the ketchup bottle. Jaskier—their fucking Jaskier—held out his hands to either calm or distract the crazy man with the thousand yard stare who just plunked down in his diner. “Hey, you alright? Long drive?”

Jaskier (Jaskier, Jaskier, how was this his Jaskier? standing there, looking at him with worried eyes like it hadn't been almost seven hundred years since he died) gave him an out for his strange behavior and Geralt took it. “Yes, sorry. Been on the road a long time.”

“Mmm, how long?”

Eight hundred years. “Since the beginning of spring.”

One eyebrow moved towards his hair line. “Well, that is a long time. What can I get you?” Geralt's hands fumbled for the menu, trying to remember what he wanted. These things used to be so much simpler; the cook made chicken that day, eat it or don't. He found the correct page again and looked up to point to his order because he didn't trust his words right now. Jaskier's eyes locked with his, mouth dropping open, eyes wide. “Oh my—those eyes. Holy shit, you're a Witcher! I'm sorry, I don't mean to be vulgar. I never thought—there's only three of you, right? And you're—” His eyes flicked to Geralt's hair, pulled back into a pony tail and buzzed short on his neck and around the sides, lighter for the late summer heat. “You're the White Wolf! Geralt of Rivia, right? Oh, this is a dream come true. You know I—” Jaskier shook himself. “This is so rude, you must be starving. I'll bring you anything, whatever you want.” He pulled the notepad from his apron and held it in his shaking hands, eyes bright and manic and so fucking familiar.

“Uh...” Geralt looked at the menu again and pointed at the meat lovers breakfast platter. “This. To start. Chicken friend steak after.”

“Right, you're a Witcher, probably eat the whole cow if we let you.” Boy, wouldn't he be surprised to know the truth of that statement. “I'll have the cook warm up the fryer, don't leave it on this late at night but for you, I'll have Bill do it. Be right back!” He ran across the diner and shot behind the counter, disappearing into the swinging kitchen door. “Bill!” he shouted. His voice clanged off the metal of the kitchen and had no trouble carrying through the small diner. The one other customer shifted in his booth and rolled his eyes. “Bill! Start the fryer!”

“Why?” Bill, apparently, shouted back.

Geralt was tempted to listen to the conversation. The modern world was so loud, he had to relearn to focus his ears on certain sounds, blocking out everything else. But he couldn't make it work right now, Jaskier—or a man who looked exactly fucking like Jaskier and had the same name—was here. Alive and warm and real. Geralt almost pulled out his trophy knife to give himself a stab, just to make sure he wasn't asleep or imagining this. Wouldn't be the first time he fell dead asleep in the back of the Scout and had weird fucking dreams about people from his past, namely Ciri, sometimes Jaskier or Vesemir.

Instead, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in, deep breath out. It wasn't a full meditation, he didn't have the time or the focus at the moment, maybe later, after he slept. Right now, Geralt needed clarity. His mind was too exhausted, muscles too heavy after that last hunt to know what was real. Maybe this kid only kind of looked like Jaskier and his over tired brain was seeing things. A few minutes passed and Geralt felt more centered. He opened his eyes and waited for this definitely different Jaskier to come back so he could see just how much he didn't look like Geralt's Jaskier.

The kitchen door swung open and the waiter returned, two plates balanced on his hands. Geralt busied himself with his coffee, avoiding making eye contact again, that's how he got confused the first time. Too long driving, too long without proper sleep. “Here you are,” he said, setting the plates down. One piled with eggs and meat the other with crispy toast and a dish filled with creamy butter. “Anything else? Freshen your coffee?”

The kid was nice, it was rude for Geralt to stare at his hands instead of trying for small talk. Humans liked small talk and he got a little better at it over the years. He looked up and got caught in those eyes again. Jaskier's eyes. Thick chest hair curled over the top of a V neck shirt, black leather cuff bracelet and a few silver rings on his hands, unfairly full pink lips barely contained the bright smile, eyes wide with child like glee. He even smelled the same, lavender with an undercurrent of wood, the added smells of the diner settled on top of it all. Geralt wasn't imagining it, or projecting Jaskier's face on some similar looking man. This was Jaskier, body and soul.

“No, I'm good. Thank you.” Geralt sipped at the coffee to have something to do with his hands. The bitter liquid made him wince and he reached for the sugar, pulling his eyes away for a second. When he looked back, Jaskier was still there, smiling at him.

He turned his attention to the food, maybe he was waiting for a reaction? Geralt's stomach growled again and he shoved half a sausage into his mouth. “Mmm, this is good.” He had a slice of bacon and moaned again. Fuck, he was hungry. “Can I get some honey for the toast?” he asked with bacon grease smearing his lip. Jaskier ran across the diner, retrieving the bear shaped bottle from the counter and offering it to Geralt. He grunted his thanks and smeared the toast with honey. Vesemir used to make fun of him for his sweet tooth.

All the while, Jaskier stood there next to the table, smiling, waiting. To be ready to talk, maybe? Did Jaskier actually know who he was, thought Geralt might have forgotten and wanted to break the ice? A shout from the kitchen called Jaskier away again. “Steak's up!”

He returned with the plate and set it on the table as Geralt finished his eggs, sliding into the other side of the booth. Geralt stopped eating, peering up at him. “Sorry, is this okay? We're a real family place, I sit with customers all the time when it's slow. I love hearing people's stories. Do you mind? I've never met a Witcher.”

Geralt grunted and finished his plate. For the moment, his hunger outweighed whatever insanity had Jaskier—almost seven hundred years dead Jaskier—sitting in front of him. He reached for the chicken fried steak and Jaskier started talking.

“I always wanted to meet a Witcher. I've read a lot about them. I'm sure most of it is inaccurate, I'm not stupid. But my mum got really into genealogy and found we were related to this ancient bard, he was friends with Witchers. That's who I'm named after.” Geralt stopped eating. Jaskier didn't notice. “She found mentions of the name in old family stuff and thought it sounded nice. I read some of his journals and fell in love with the man. Honestly, he's the only person to do anything interesting in our family history. He was a spy during one of the ancient wars, and he hung around with Witchers. So amazing. Did you know him?”

Jaskier said this all in one breath. If Geralt had any doubts about the man in front of him, they were gone now; only the real Jaskier could talk like he didn't need oxygen. Geralt finished off his last few bites of food and drank his coffee. _Do I tell him?_ he wondered. Tell this Jaskier what exactly? That yes, he knew the original Jaskier, he was the spitting image of one of the men who captured his heart so completely, Geralt still felt the pain of his death centuries later? How did one dump that on a man so young? Fuck, he even looked the same age as when they first met. Jaskier was, eighteen or nineteen then, Geralt thought...

The new Jaskier sat quietly, waiting for the answer. Geralt drank more coffee. “Jaskier, yes. I heard of him. Professor at Oxenfurt.” _Or you can just lie._

Jaskier's lips turned down a little. “That's something. His writings are old, incomplete most of them, scribblings about songs mostly. Could've sworn he wrote about a Witcher with white hair, and the School of the Wolf.” His eyes flicked down to Geralt's chest, eyeing the chain of the medallion. “That's all that's left, right? Three wolves.”

“Yes.” Geralt stared at his plate now, coffee in front of his face so he didn't have to see those soft eyes filled with pity. No matter how much he looked like Jaskier, this man was just a descendant, not the real article. Pain he thought long gone surged in Geralt's chest. “Lots of bards sang songs about me, I had quite the reputation.”

“I see.” Jaskier pulled back a little, sliding out of the booth, the aura of _go away_ around Geralt finally kicking in. He hated to shut him out, but Geralt couldn't let the pretty face distract him. It wasn't his Jaskier's face, couldn't be. “More coffee?”

“Please.”

Jaskier returned with the coffee pot and Geralt met his eyes again. Despite the light dismissal, they were still open and oh so lovely. He couldn't brush off this kid without another word. “I, uh, I remember a Jaskier. He was a good bard.” Good friend, good lover, the best man a Witcher might ever know. “Live as long as I have, a few things slip through the cracks.”

“Makes sense.” Jaskier stepped back and returned the coffee pot to the counter, getting back to work.

His hunger sated, Geralt's mind had no distraction and his eyes lingered on Jaskier as he moved around the diner, wiping down counters, taking another plate of eggs to the man on the opposite side of the room. He disappeared into the back for a moment and Geralt craned his neck to see through the little kitchen window. A piece of toast dangled from his lips as he made small talk with the cook.

Geralt finished the last few crumbs of food on his plate and decided against the dessert. He couldn't stay here any longer, not without blurting out “Yes, I knew Jaskier, I loved him and I love you, I haven't seen your face for almost seven hundred years and now I never want to look at another face ever again.” Seemed rather intense for a first meeting. Especially because this wasn't Jaskier. It couldn't be.

Geralt held up his arm to get his attention and Jaskier appeared at the edge of the table, tired eyes finally showing the late hour. “Thank you. For everything. Can I get the check?”

“Oh no.” Jaskier waved him away. “Witchers eat free. It's a rule I just decided. There's only three of you out there, I figure I can take that risk.”

Geralt smiled despite himself. “Not so sure about that. You weren't wrong before, I can finish off the whole cow. And I don't want to get you in trouble.”

“I won't, my family owns the place. Not a lot of family diners like this left.”

“Isn't that the truth.” The march of time came slow at first, Geralt barely noticed the changes in the world until a few decades passed. Then, the twentieth century hit and change came so fast and furious, it felt like all Geralt had to do was blink and find the world around him a completely new place. Small roadside diners like this appeared and disappeared overnight, at least, from his perspective. “Thank you, I appreciate the hospitality.”

“No problem. I believe my ancestor had a history of being kind to Witchers. No sense in discontinuing the tradition.” Geralt couldn't help his smile this time. This might be a genetic reflection of Jaskier, but hearing the man's voice one more time made his heart light again. He gathered his jacket and stood up, leaving a few crowns on the table for a tip.

He walked towards the door and stopped. The Scout was still there, but in the rising dawn light, the landscape looked... familiar. Mountains and green in a world so often covered in concrete. These were the kind of stomping grounds he had to run through, the only places monsters still roamed. But the tug in his chest was impossible to ignore. Geralt turned, finding Jaskier with his eyes. “One last thing? Where am I? I was looking for food more than paying attention to road signs.”

“I understand. We are the last port of call for most people. You're in Upper Posada. Have a nice morning.” Jaskier returned to the kitchen to answer the phone, missing the way the color drained from Geralt's face.

Shaking himself, he stumbled outside before he drew too much attention, throwing open the door of the Scout and sitting down. He rubbed his eyes and looked back at the diner. Jaskier was still there, chatting with the other customer, bringing him yet more coffee. A man related to Jaskier, in Upper Posada...

Reason left Geralt's mind for the moment. He fumbled for his phone, taking it out of his pocket and snapping a shitty picture of Jaskier through the windows, glare obscuring everything except Jaskier's face, the impossible man who couldn't be here. Geralt gave half a thought to deleting the photo. It was stupid, there was no way—it wasn't—

He shoved his phone back into his pocket and pulled out onto the road, putting as much distance between himself and _not_ Jaskier as possible. With his belly full of food, sleep started to blur his vision and after about twenty miles, Geralt pulled to the side of the road and cut the engine. He needed sleep, that was it. First food, then sleep, and later his mind would be clear, stop showing him visions of Jaskier where he couldn't possibly be.

Checking to make sure this wasn't a tow away area, Geralt hopped into the back and stretched out as much as the bench seat allowed. One advantage to the Scout was the space, but no vehicle was invented with a Witcher in mind. It was almost comfortable, which was enough for now.

Geralt awoke to a tapping on his window, firm, not a knuckle. He opened his eyes and the bright light of day flooded in. Adjusting his pupils, he tried again and saw a forest ranger's hat. He opened his hands before rolling down the window. “I'm a Witcher,” he grumbled. “Not homeless.”

The ranger nodded, clipping his flashlight back to his belt. “Got it, sorry to disturb you. One can never be too careful around here...” He passed his eyes over the Scout, checking for signs of an actual Witcher, not an idiot who knew a convincing lie for law enforcement. Out of province plates, camping gear in the back, along with some very specific looking weapons, not to mention the eyes. Definitely a Witcher. “If you're looking for work, you're in the middle of the Dol Blathanna nature preserve and we have a werewolf problem. Interested?”

Geralt nodded and sat up. “I'll follow you.”

The ranger went back to his service truck and Geralt climbed into the front seat, turning the key. He followed to the nearest station to pick up the contract. Folks these days were more understanding of Witchers, but no one came too close, too many old stories and old lies still swirling around. They all started at his eyes and his scars, holding themselves at least an arm's length away. Geralt's mind flashed back to Jaskier (not Jaskier) at the diner, leaning on the table, mere inches separating them, smiling wide. No human had been that close since... Well, since the original Jaskier.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old pull of Destiny gnawed at him. He hadn't had a destiny in centuries but given how many times their meeting had been less than ideal, Geralt had a whether eye out for fucking Destiny to come and screw him over again. A man who looked like Jaskier, definitely related to the original, in a diner in Upper Fucking Posada. There were too many coincidences. For the first time in many, many years, Geralt didn't trust his eyes. He texted Eskel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am shamelessly borrowing monsters from DnD. Not a lot, but beholders are cool, and since I wrote in a third conjunction, it's not a stretch to think new monsters appeared... those are my reasons, and I'm sticking to them. Also, I'm playing fast and loose with driving distances. The show/books cover a lot of time and they always seem to be on the other side of the Continent from where they last started. A lot of travel time will be expressed in "about a week" or "a few days." Don't get too bogged down with it and enjoy the ride, is my advice.
> 
> This fic will have a lot of visual aids, mostly in the end notes. I hope everyone is enjoying this so far, please let me know if you spot a typo and I'll fix it. As always, enjoy <3

It took a full week for Geralt to do something about the creepy stalker photo on his phone. Late at night when he couldn't sleep, he opened his phone to stare at it, think about deleting it, then return the phone to his pocket. The more he looked, the more his mind convinced him he was truly looking at Jaskier. No portrait to keep the memory fresh, his brain started playing tricks.

The old pull of Destiny gnawed at him. He hadn't had a destiny in centuries but given how many times their meeting had been less than ideal, Geralt had a whether eye out for fucking Destiny to come and screw him over again. A man who looked like Jaskier, definitely related to the original, in a diner in Upper Fucking Posada. There were too many coincidences. For the first time in many, many years, Geralt didn't trust his eyes. He texted Eskel.

_**Where are you? Might need a second pair of eyes.** _

The answer came a few hours later in the form of a call. Geralt answered right away. “Second pair of eyes?” Eskel said. They stopped using formalities with each other long ago. You could only say “hello” so many times after eight hundred fucking years. “What does that mean? Talking about a job?”

Geralt didn't plan this far. Jaskier was a part of the School of the Wolf, as deeply as Eskel or Lambert. They grieved next to Geralt when their bard left this world forever, no matter how peaceful his death was, they all carried his loss. How did he tell them their trauma might need to be revisited? “Not a job, exactly...”

“Geralt, spit it out. We're too old to play games.”

Geralt bit the inside of his cheek. “How fast can you get to Dol Blathanna, Upper Posada?”

Eskel paused. He knew what Upper Posada meant, knew that was where... “Maybe two weeks. There's a contract I want to check on. Why?”

“I'm sending you a photo.” Geralt switched over to the picture and sent it, lifting the phone back to his ear. “Did it come through?” A sharp breath on the other side of the line told him that it did indeed come through. “Eskel? Are you there?”

“I'll meet you in eight days.”

They hung up and Geralt leaned back, rubbing his eyes. Now he had eight days to kill. He found a few more werewolves in the Dol Blathanna nature preserve and the park rangers were glad for his help. One was a bit of trouble for them, but not impossible, more than two called for a professional. Well, good thing Geralt was so close by.

He sent Eskel the address for the diner the day before they were supposed to meet and parked in the town. He convinced the mechanic to let him use his tools to work on the Scout himself—no one touched that car—and gave it a much needed tune up and oil change. The mechanic sat back, shaking his head at the 'classic' car. “Man, don't see many in this good a shape...” Blue paint pristine, interior immaculate, all original or restored, he better believe Geralt took care of his car.

Eskel's beat up Dodge rolled into town a little after noon. Geralt was sitting outside the convenience store, glass bottle of Coke in hand. He really did enjoy the _old_ style bottles, even if they were still new to him. He flagged Eskel down and watched him saunter from the truck, taking a moment to appreciate the sight.

Just like the old days, they all gathered at Geralt's property for winter, resting and training for the coming year. It wasn't a castle with a large training courtyard, but Corvo Bianco was big enough for them to do all the training they needed. Many developments had tried to get the land from him over the years, but the old contracts from older families still meant something on that part of the Continent. Geralt sold off some of the land and stopped running the vineyard entirely about a century ago, keeping the house as original as possible, with a few much needed modern additions, like indoor plumbing. He added walls around it to prevent the locals from staring in to marvel at the last of a near extinct breed. Whether he liked it or not, Geralt's house turned into their winter keep, just a little warmer and a little fancier than Kaer Morhen.

While on The Path, Eskel was as cool, collected and dangerous as any Witcher, his magic still the stuff of legends. Yet at Corvo Bianco, Eskel was beautiful, free and open with his love for Geralt, the trying nature of their lives forgotten for one season a year. More than eight hundred years and he kept surprising Geralt, like the year he returned with a reproduction of Jaskier's lute, the one he got from Filavandrel. “Tracked down a descendant,” he said. “She had the original plans and everything.” He plucked at it that night while Geralt sucked off Lambert, both of them thinking of the days Jaskier sat between them. Eskel learned to play almost every instrument Jaskier knew, it helped when the three of them were in a particularly melancholy state, missing the warm human spark between them. And now, Geralt might have found it again...

An imitation spark, not the real thing. He had to remind himself the past few days. He brought Eskel to show him the man with a striking resemblance, see if he wanted to hear their tales. It might be nice, to see those eyes light up again at old stories. Maybe this great-great a hundred times removed grandson had his ancestor's gift for song. It wasn't impossible. Geralt might never think anything impossible again, not after walking into a random diner and seeing Jaskier's face looking back at him.

Eskel sat down on the bench next to him and swiped the bottle, taking a long drink. He didn't need Geralt to tell him they were sitting across the road from the diner, Eskel recognized the window from the picture and the red vinyl booth seats. A woman with curly brown hair and suspiciously blue eyes flitted around, waiting tables for the lunch crowd.

After a few minutes, Eskel sighed and sat back on the bench, dropping his arm behind Geralt. “Please tell me that photo was altered. A trick of the light, something.”

“I wish.” Try as he might, he couldn't get the Jaskier look alike out of his mind for the past few weeks. It's why he was still here, why he spent the last two-ish weeks hunting around Dol Blathanna, never straying more than a hundred miles away from Upper Posada. This place, it wasn't a coincidence, and that young man didn't have Jaskier's face by accident, Destiny was rarely so lazy.

“Did he recognize you?” Eskel stared through the diner's windows. The woman fucking looked like Jaskier too. They hadn't met Jaskier's family in the old days, but the resemblance in front of them was so striking, Eskel might've believe Geralt after seeing a picture of her instead.

Geralt shrugged. “Sort of. He clocked me as a Witcher, said he'd read about us and always wanted to meet one.” He straightened up. “He said he had an ancestor who used to run with Witchers, also called Jaskier.”

“The fuck.” Eskel pulled his eyes away from the diner. “You're telling me this kid's name is actually Jaskier?”

“Yup. Said his mum likes genealogy, found an old family name she liked.” He buried his face in his hands. “He says he read up on the original Jaskier. Don't know how he didn't figure out I was the same Geralt.”

Eskel snorted. “Always was a little shiny and dumb when he met someone new. Remember his first winter?”

“Yeah, when he wasn't making moon eyes at you and Lambert, he was dragging me around, making me show him every portrait we still had.”

“I love every Witcher, even the ones I'll never know,” Eskel quoted. Geralt marveled at Eskel's memory, but then again, he was the one who kept the majority of Jaskier's journals and song composition books, the ones he left at Kaer Morhen at least. During winter, he spent days preserving them, pouring over their contents, trying to finish ballads Jaskier never had the chance to, getting a little more insight into the brightest, most annoying beam of sunshine they ever met. “I thought I had all his writings at Corvo Bianco.”

“So did I. Must have left a few at his family estate.”

Jaskier refused to let them accompany him when he had to make arrangements after his parents' death. “I hate that place,” he said. “I will not allow you to see it and use it to read deeply into me or whatever the fuck. I'm going to dig a hole, plop my parents in it, and that will be that.” Apparently, that wasn't that, if Jaskier stayed long enough to leave a few journals behind, or maybe some notes for new ballads about Witchers. He was always writing, paper and pencil stubs hidden away in his silks, falling all over the place when Geralt pulled him out of said silks.

“When does his shift start?”

“Ten o'clock.”

Eskel looked at his watch. The sun was still up, a few hours away from starting to set. “Lot of time to kill.”

“Yup.”

They sat on that bench until ten o'clock, swapping stories of their contracts. It was a ritual they indulged in whenever their paths crossed, because come winter, there was no talk of The Path allowed. Gone were the days of swapping stories over hands of Gwent as Vesemir critiqued their technique, Geralt declared a moratorium when Lambert limped home one year with duct tape keeping his guts inside him, blood all over the front seat of his shitty pick up. There would be no talk of death in their winter keep anymore, not after they'd had so many years of nothing but.

“A beholder?” Geralt marveled. “I thought we got the last of those fuckers five years ago.” The large, deeply evil monsters were xenophobic in the extreme. Their cruelty knew no bounds and they used their considerable magic to kill human, elf and dwarf alike. It took all three of them to bring down the last few, and here Eskel fought one on his own?

Eskel nodded. “I thought so too. This one was a straggler from that same group. Set itself up in an old Eternal Fire temple and enslaved some locals. But,” he rubbed his fingers together, forming a sloppy Igni and still calling forth a flame large enough to hold in the palm of his hand, before snuffing it, “this was a young one, didn't know the kind of magic I have.”

“I believe it.” Over the centuries, Eskel's magic only grew stronger, which was a hell of a thought. He already had enough power to cause an avalanche with a stiff Aard back when Kaer Morhen still stood. Now, a lazy Sign from Eskel's fingers might level a whole city block. “Third Conjunction brought some weird shit.” Eskel hummed in agreement.

Geralt leaned back on the bench and draped his arm around Eskel's shoulders, rubbing his neck. One thing the modern world brought was a little bit of tolerance. Sure, people still snapped and fought with each other over differences that didn't fucking matter—part elf, all dwarf, people were people, no matter their shape—but no one gave a flying fuck if they saw two men leaning together, sharing a hug or a kiss. A few backwaters might give them looks, but otherwise, Geralt found his relationships with Eskel and Lambert were so common place as to be boring. He didn't have to fear touching his brothers in public anymore. It was a small comfort in a world that was still mostly made of shit.

A bright blue car zipped into town from a string of houses over the next hill, which was technically still part of the town, but not part any passers by saw. The car parked behind the diner and a few minutes later, Jaskier emerged from the kitchen, stopping to hug the woman working (looked like his sister, too young for a mother) and started taking orders.

Geralt eyed Eskel and saw a look he definitely understood: eyes wide, mouth hanging open. “It's crazier when you see it with your own eyes.” The sneaky picture through plate glass windows did not do the man justice. He was Jaskier, in every sense, Eskel saw the resemblance from this far away.

Neither Witcher moved, their eyes focused on the diner across the street, watching their longest lost lover smile and laugh, breathe and chat, all things they never thought he'd do again. “Do we...” Eskel began, words failing him all of a sudden. “Should we tell him?”

“I don't know.” Geralt sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “He asked if I knew him—knew his ancestor. I sort of... lied.”

“Sort of?”

“I said I'd heard of him. Not that we—”

“Not that we spend the better part of seventy years fucking a man who looks exactly like him? Yes, good idea leaving that out.”

“Fuck, Eskel, I don't know. How would you greet a man you thought was dead?” Geralt growled, then hung his head, frustration quickly cooling and bleeding away. “He smells the same too. Don't know how that happens.”

“How does this happen at all?” They watched Jaskier move around the diner, talking with a few late dinner guests, carrying food here and there, always with a smile. “Jaskier never married. No children—”

“No _legitimate_ children,” Geralt said. “Do you know how many royal cuckolds I chased away from him? He definitely left more than a few eggs in strange nests.”

“Hmm,” Eskel grunted. “The beautiful cuckoo of old Redania. Now I'm surprised we haven't come across his blue eyed babies before.”

“Would we notice if he wasn't an exact copy?” So many years, so many mortal faces blurred past like nothing. Geralt saw many a man or woman call him friend who he thought he barely knew. Nothing stacked up to eight hundred years of brotherhood, there was no way for a specific human to stand out in their eyes... Unless the gods decided to give that human the one face they all missed.

“Probably not.”

They waited until the diner emptied out a little before heading across the street. Geralt gave half a thought to forming a plan, but what did that even mean? They didn't want to drag this boy into their world for simply looking like Jaskier. No, Eskel just needed to see, have a few hours to bask, nothing more. They didn't need to burden Jaskier's line with yet another Witcher infatuation.

The bell over the door jingled and Jaskier turned to greet them, his eyes going wide, words sticking in his throat. “Oh,” he managed after a few seconds. “I didn't expect to see you again. Geralt, right? And—” His eyes snapped right to Eskel's. “Another Witcher! This is, wow, such an honor. Go, sit anywhere, I'll be right with you!” He hurried back into the kitchen, throwing glances over his shoulder to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.

Geralt pushed Eskel along to the back corner table and sat him down, leaning in to whisper, “Eskel, take a breath.”

Eskel sucked in a deep breath, heart regaining its normal rhythm. He turned around and tried to see through the kitchen window, catching the top of Jaskier's head as he paced back and forth. “Mum, it's me,” he said into the phone, both Witchers strained to listen. “Remember that Witcher I told you about? He's back! And he brought another with him! I'm going to cover their meals again—I don't care, take it out of my check. Listen, I'm going to tell them about the B&B, they've probably been on the road a while. Can you please...”

“We shouldn't listen,” Geralt whispered.

“I know.” Eskel turned his attention to the menus and let his eyes drift over the offerings, Jaskier's blue eyes still filling his mind. “Are we planning to stay?”

“I'm not planning anything,” Geralt said. Wasn't that the truth? Two weeks hanging around Upper Posada and he had no plan the whole time. He was supposed to be heading back towards Temeria, the old castles attracted a number of beasts, easy pickings. The fact that the Dol Blathanna nature preserve had such a werewolf problem was a stroke of dumb luck. Geralt was more than ready to rewrite his whole plan for the season based on one pretty, familiar face. Just like when it came to the original Jaskier. “We'll stay if it works out.”

Eskel gave a derisive chuckle. “Works out.” What that meant, neither had a clue. The only plan Geralt had was to enjoy the food and take a few hours to stare at Jaskier before parting ways again.

Jaskier floated out of the kitchen, heading right towards them, notepad in hand. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Had to call home for something. Ready to order?”

“You don't need to cover it for us. We have the coin to spare,” Geralt said, then immediately regretted it when Jaskier's smile started to fall. “Sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop.” He fluttered a hand towards the kitchen. “Witcher senses are heightened, it's hard to turn off sometimes. I don't want our food taken out of your pay. We might eat your entire check.”

Smile in its proper place once again, Jaskier laughed. It was beautiful music to Geralt's ears. “I didn't mean to be so presumptuous. I never thought I'd see you again, and now here you are!” He turned to Eskel, who hadn't said a word, just stared up at Jaskier, lips parted in quiet wonder. “I'm Jaskier, it's so great to meet you. Did Geralt tell you? My family is related to this ancient bard who hung around with Witchers. We have a few of his things—been passed down for generations. And you're—you're Eskel, right? Or maybe Lambert?”

“Eskel,” Eskel said, his tongue suddenly working again. “I'm Eskel.”

“Of course.” Jaskier's eyes flicked between them. “Wherever you find Geralt, so goes Eskel. I've read,” he added quickly. “I found verses like that in the first Jaskier's journals. I'm not one of those creepy Witcher Watchers, promise.”

“Witcher Watchers?” The phrase pulled Eskel out of his Jaskier tunnel vision. He was still staring at the young man, couldn't take his eyes off him. Jaskier didn't seem to notice. Maybe he didn't care.

“Mmm, yes,” Geralt grunted. “They're part of the reason I have a wall around the keep. Lambert found their website a few seasons ago. Most just talk about where we've been seen, but a few try to find us. Rescued a group who were staking out a harpy nest, waiting for me, harpies almost found them first. You're too focused on the work, you never notice what's going on around you unless it's trying to kill you.”

Eskel nodded. “Yes, sounds about right.”

“Yeah, that's definitely not my scene,” Jaskier said. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, nervous, and not just because Eskel was staring at him again. Honestly, those beautiful golden eyes could look at him forever if that's what the Witchers wanted. “Those journals, stuff about the School of the Wolf pops up a lot. Uh, what can I get for you?”

Geralt ordered them both a chicken fried steak. It was early enough, the fryer was still on and Jaskier didn't have to argue with the cook—Bill again. He bustled off to the kitchen, giving Geralt a moment to check in with Eskel. “Is this too much?”

Eskel hissed out a breath through his teeth and rested his forehead against the heel of his hand. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You said he looked—but _fuck_ , Geralt. He is Jaskier. His smell...”

“I know.” Geralt sipped at the coffee Jaskier expertly slid onto the table between the babbling excitement and pushed Eskel's cup towards him. “I keep telling myself it's the family lineage, genetic resemblance. But it feels like—”

“More,” Eskel finished for him. He lifted his head and drank the coffee, staring into Geralt's eyes. “You met him here, right? Upper Posada?” He knew the story, they all did. Some long winter nights, Geralt whispered the old stories of Jaskier as he slowly thrust into Eskel, both of them longing for the human eyes on them once again, watching them enjoy their pleasure with Lambert speared on his cock nearby.

“Yes. Exactly here.” Geralt had some free time these past weeks (free time he should have used looking for jobs, but wasted fixated on Jaskier) and compared the modern maps to the ancient archives he found online. “As far as I can tell, this town is the same location. Give or take a few hundred feet.”

Eskel shook his head. “That can't be a coincidence.”

“I've spent two weeks trying to talk myself out of that same thought.”

Reincarnation was so rare as to be nonexistent, and always appeared in powerful creatures: an elven priestess returned to life as a seer to warn her people; a few dragons who came back around again with stories of past lives. The only human reincarnation Geralt heard of was a wizard. But a mundane human like Jaskier? Yes, he danced across the edges of destinies of so many—Geralt, Ciri, Yennefer, not to mention Eskel and Lambert—and as a human, led a more than remarkable life. But a remarkable human was nothing to Destiny. They were pawns to move into the correct spot when the final battle came, nothing more, even though Jaskier was so much more to all of them.

Jaskier returned with their food and freshened their coffee, still beaming. Sure, the Witchers were a little odd, but a lot of diner customers were odd. Each time those golden eyes landed on him, his heart beat a little faster. “Can I get you anything else?”

Eskel and Geralt ordered pancakes with a mound of bacon, then a milkshake each. Every time Jaskier came by to drop off more food or check in, they looked so deep in conversation, but quickly broke apart to talk to him. It wasn't like he was interrupting, at least, his interruption wasn't unpleasant. Eskel stopped openly staring and started smiling, Geralt watching them both quietly, small smile on his lips. Eskel knew so many of the ancient poets Jaskier loved reading and it took every ounce of his self control not to crawl into the man's lap and beg for more stories. The diner started to clear out until only the Witchers remained, their food long finished.

“We should go,” Geralt sighed, checking the time. “At least pretend to sleep tonight.”

“I can help with that!” Jaskier called from the kitchen. “I mean...” He scurried out into the diner, business card held out towards Geralt. “My family owns a B&B in town. It's just over the hill before you hit all the farms. Only place to stay for about a hundred miles. I called my mum and told her I might send some people over. We only have like four rooms, we don't get many people through here.”

“That's fine, we only need one room,” Geralt said, and took the card. He turned it around to show Eskel the name of the bed and breakfast, _The Buttercup House_. The logo on the other side of the card looked like a lark, a bouquet of buttercups clutched in its beak, the address and phone number underneath.

“We'll go check it out, thank you,” Eskel said. They both got up and left money on the table, along with a very large tip.

They walked out into the night, glancing back at Jaskier as he waved them off. They crossed the road and stopped next to the Scout. “We've shared the back before,” Geralt said, both of them looking at the business card for The Fucking Buttercup House, handed to them by their very own buttercup of ancient times...

“The Scout's a good truck, but you barely fit,” Eskel said.

In silent agreement, they both got into their vehicles and made their way over the hill. A large-ish cream colored house met them, the sign out front declaring it _The Buttercup House, Family Owned and Operated_. They parked on the spacious drive and walked in. The porch light was still on despite the late hour and an older woman with striking blue eyes and chestnut brown hair (only a little gray at the roots) sat in the living room and turned when she heard the door. Her smile fell a bit when she saw their eyes, but she met them at the counter all the same.

“You the Witchers my Jaskier called about?” she asked. Her eyes roved over them, taking in Geralt's leather jacket, Eskel's red flannel with the torn pocket, and their heavy combat boots streaked with mud and probably monster guts.

“Yes, ma'am,” Eskel said. “If you don't have a room, we understand, but he insisted we come by.”

“Yes, he's very insistent.” She sighed and waved them over. “My name is Lydia. Charge or crowns?”

Geralt paid for the room and followed her up the stairs, Eskel ran back out to grab their overnight bags. As far as B&Bs went, this one wasn't too over the top with the frilly decor. The bed was made up in cool green sheets, little buttercups embroidered into the corners of the pillowcases. Pictures and paintings of fields of buttercups were on every wall, but in a tasteful muted kind of way, enhancing the idea behind the room without overwhelming.

“Buttercups,” Geralt whispered.

“Yes, for my Jaskier. The rooms are themed after all our children—his sisters Rosa and Juniper, brother Jasper. The place is only named for him because I was pregnant with him the year we bought it. Jaskier means—”

“Buttercup,” Eskel said, eyes taking in the room, his chest suddenly tight. “We, uh, in the old days, we knew the original Jaskier.” _And we called him buttercup to wind him up_ , Eskel didn't say.

Lydia nodded. “I thought that might be the case. That boy's bent my ear with stories of Witchers for years, ever since we found those old journals in his gran's attic.” She looked Geralt and Eskel over again, her eyes shrewd, almost like she was looking through them. “I figured it was only a matter of time until he tracked one of you down and brought you home. Looks like you came to us first.” She handed Geralt the key to the room and headed out. “Breakfast starts at seven, ends at eleven. Good night, Master Witchers.”

She closed the door and Geralt clicked the lock before turning back to Eskel. The low light of the single lamp was more than enough to see the hunger in his eyes. The surprise of Jaskier covered it for most of the night, but whenever they met on the road like this, it was hard to keep their hands off each other, Geralt was surprised they managed to wait this long.

He wasn't sure who stepped forward first, only that Eskel's hands were in his hair, pulling out the tie and scratching the buzzed part of his scalp, feeling Geralt. Wrapping his hand around Eskel's jaw, he pushed open his mouth with his tongue, exploring every inch of it. They knew each other's bodies like their own, but every chance to touch and hold was a gift.

Pushing them back onto the bed, Geralt arched into Eskel's hands as he pulled them out of their clothing, fingers trailing well-known paths over dips and scars, tickling just a little as he brushed across Geralt's stomach. Their clothing in a pile on the floor, Geralt pulled Eskel in close, burying his nose in his neck and inhaling his scent. Magic, like rain on a metal roof, curled through Geralt's lungs, the woodsy musk of Eskel underneath his power. Eskel grew more and more powerful with each passing year, but the metallic smell of his magic never covered the forest that lived in his skin.

A lick up the side of his neck and Geralt knew Eskel was performing the same ritual—scenting him, making sure he smelled the same. Cold snow on top of a long forgotten mountain, Geralt always smelled like a home they'd never see again, the memory both sweet and painful. A hard cock nudged his thigh and Eskel withdrew from the embrace long enough to get the lube from his bag.

Geralt grabbed a towel from his bag and put it down while he waited. He wasn't about to leave mysterious stains in Jaskier's family B&B. As soon as Geralt settled back onto the bed, Eskel was there, pushing between his thick thighs, shoving his knees apart, lubed fingers circling his hole. Meeting no resistance, the digit almost slid right in, but Eskel held back, taking a moment to enjoy the body under him. Yes, they would all be together in winter, but winter was a fucking long time off.

When Geralt started to growl, Eskel slid two fingers inside. He swallowed Geralt's gasp with his lips, kissing deeply, swallowing a few more moans and grunts. “We have to be quiet,” he whispered.

Geralt grunted his agreement. “That's the last thing we need, Jaskier invites Witchers to his mother's house and she tells him we're fucking...”

“Don't know which journals he has,” Eskel said, adding a third finger and crooking them just so. Geralt tightened down on him. “He might already know we're fucking.”

“Then shut up and do it.” Geralt bit down on Eskel's tongue to make his point. The fingers retreated and the head of Eskel's cock spread him open, sliding in agonizingly slow. Geralt felt every inch, his hands latching onto Eskel's shoulders, nails digging in. “Fuck,” he sighed.

“You're the one who wanted me to shut up and do it.” Eskel licked Geralt's adam's apple, then buried his face in his neck, breathing deep.

Geralt's body wrapped around him, urging Eskel to fuck him more, harder, faster. Knees gripped at his chest, knocking against his ribs and squeezing the breath from his lungs. Their first few decades on The Path, sex with Geralt was always quick and efficient: cock in hole, come, wash, repeat as necessary. Jaskier taught him the value of a slow, luxurious fuck and Eskel never stopped owing the bard for that particular lesson. They both learned to walk the fine line between giving and taking too much, so while Geralt's hands and legs pulled Eskel in to demand more, his lips hit every sensitive spot he could reach, showering Eskel in love and affection as his ass squeezed, bringing them both over.

Eskel barely got a hand between them before they came, grunting into Geralt's neck. The second he pulled out, Geralt grabbed his hand and licked the come from his fingers, their eyes locked together. “The things you do to me,” Eskel sighed.

When they were clean, showered and sleepy, they settled under the covers, Geralt spooned up behind Eskel. He rearranged them until they were face to face. They fucked, they had their distraction, now they had to get back to the elephant in the room they didn't want to discuss. Eskel looked Geralt dead in the eye. “You have to tell Lambert about Jaskier.”

Yes, Geralt knew that was coming. He was dreading it, actually. “I know. I will.” He just wasn't sure how to fucking do it without amassing a body count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt's Scout:


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Geralt is bringing a guest this year,” Vesemir said.
> 
> “So?” Lambert said. “Why do I care?”
> 
> Vesemir put down his knife and looked Lambert square in the eye. “It's the bard.” Lambert groaned and Vesemir raised his voice to drown him out. “We do not mistreat our guests here, we are not Vipers. If you can't pretend to be a good host, do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut this winter before Geralt shuts it for you.”
> 
> “Ugh, fucking serious? I hate that song, the second I walk into a tavern, that's all they'll play. You hate it too, don't deny it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of feels in this chapter. A LOT. I'm in love with Lambert and since he is the way that he is, I tend to give him a very deep bond with Jaskier and the others, god knows he hides it well, but he feels his feelings deep, much to his detriment. This is also a flashback chapter. Since I skipped 700ish years, I will do flashbacks to the past to kind of make a connection between the characters then, and how they are now. Mentions of past drug use in this chapter, not excessive, but it does come up.
> 
> Also, remember: they are all alive in the future, this is a flashback. No matter how sad it might seem, they are alive and well in the rest of the story.
> 
> Please enjoy, and if anyone finds a typo, let me know and it'll be taken care of.

“Geralt is bringing a guest this year,” Vesemir said. Slowly chopping the last of the vegetables to pickle for winter, he didn't look away from his task but he watched for Lambert's reaction.

Lambert was supposed to be sorting jars onto the correct shelves but was actually just pushing them back and forth. It was his own fault, he was never the first one to arrive in winter, now he was stuck helping with all the boring chores. They couldn't do the large repairs until Eskel and Geralt were here, so Vesemir had them on fucking kitchen duty.

“So?” Lambert said. “Why do I care?”

Vesemir put down his knife and looked Lambert square in the eye. “It's the bard.” Lambert groaned and Vesemir raised his voice to drown him out. “We do not mistreat our guests here, we are not Vipers. If you can't pretend to be a good host, do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut this winter before Geralt shuts it for you.”

“Ugh, fucking serious?” Lambert shifted the jars with a little more force. One slipped off the shelf but he caught it before it shattered. “I hate that song, the second I walk into a tavern, that's all they'll play. You hate it too, don't deny it.”

“You'll find,” Vesemir said, voice far too calm, “that I don't frequent taverns anymore. That song may or may not be part of the reasons why...”

Eskel arrived the next morning and had a matching groan as soon as he heard the news. “I like a good bard—”

“But that song is fucking everywhere,” Lambert finished for him. “Maybe Geralt will fuck him so hard this winter, he forgets the words.” Sure, that song inspired people to give a _little_ more coin, even if they weren't the White Wolf, but there were really only so many times Lambert could hear those same words before he snapped.

A little before lunch the next day, the front doors opened. Snow swept in, whipping snow white hair across Geralt's face. Lambert and Eskel went out to meet him and noticed someone missing. “Vesemir said you were bringing the bard,” Eskel said.

“I am, he's here.” Geralt grabbed them both by the neck for a quick hug, then his hands slid to Eskel's shoulder and the scruff of Lambert's neck. He gave them a good shake. “He's very excited to be here. He knows your names, knows you are my brothers and he already loves you. You better fucking be nice to him or I will give you no peace this winter.” He squeezed Lambert a little harder than necessary. “Especially you.” He knew Eskel would play nice for no other reason than he was madly in love with Geralt, but Lambert was always a wild card, it was part of his charm (if you asked him).

Geralt released them just as the doors opened. More wind swept in, followed by a man bundled up in too many cloaks and furs. He threw back his hood and the brightest blue eyes Eskel and Lambert had ever seen smiled at them. They roved over the walls, taking everything in before landing on the Witchers.

“Hello!” Jaskier panted, out of breath from the last bit of the trek to the gates. “That mountain is a monster. I'm Jaskier, lovely to meet you.”

Eskel nodded, trying to be polite for Geralt's sake. “I'm Eskel, this is Lambert.”

“And I am Vesemir,” Vesemir said, appearing from a staircase. You wouldn't know to look at him, but the old Witcher had a dramatic streak when the mood struck. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen.” They exchanged pleasantries for a moment, Vesemir explained the rules, “We all have chores, you will help maintain the castle while you stay.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Jaskier replied.

Lambert didn't listen to any of it, he was waiting for his chance to duck out. He glared at the lute strapped to the bard's back and held back a growl. That song, that stupid song they all hated, and Geralt brought the man responsible for it to stay the winter? His ass must be all kinds of sweet to make up for it.

Funny thing, though, the more he glared at Jaskier, the happier the bard got. From the moment he walked in, his eyes shined at everything, looking upon Eskel and Lambert like they were sculpted from marble standing in a temple somewhere, and Jaskier was an eager worshiper. It made sense he looked at Geralt like that, they were _together_ , but he had those moon eyes for them as well, all soft and blue, like looking into a clear sky on top of the mountain, the winter storms so very far away...

“Vesemir,” Geralt asked. “After we settle in, can I take Jaskier up to Master Rennes' office? He wants to see the portraits.” Rennes' office was a few floors up in one of the last structurally sound towers. None of the fanatics made it that high and it was mostly intact. Vesemir went up there from time to time to think or meditate. Over the years, all the portraits of ancient Witchers made their way into the old office. Having them in the dining hall that should be filled with brothers but stood empty was too painful for them all to see year after year.

Vesemir nodded. “Of course. Keep a close hand on him, those stairs are tricky.” Vesemir turned to head back to his rooms, as much of a dismissal as they were going to get. Lambert was busy patching his favorite winter cloak when Eskel shouted for him to come meet Geralt and the bard, and he wanted to get back to work.

They all went their separate ways, but Lambert looked over his shoulder, watching Geralt with his arm around the bard, both of them leaning in, smiling... He scented the air and a rush of lavender and freshly oiled wood hit him, a small tinge of arousal mixed in. The bard was hot for Geralt, what a surprise. He only hoped they kept it down at night.

That night at dinner, Jaskier came down with his lute. Eskel said nothing, but Lambert didn't hide his groan. Jaskier stopped, grip tightening on his instrument. “Geralt said the first night you're all together is a bit like a party. I thought some music might be nice.”

“It is most welcome,” Vesemir said, sweeping over to the table with the last dish of potatoes. Eskel helped him set out the roast and they all sat. “Play for us after we eat.” Jaskier nodded and they all dug in.

While Eskel, Lambert and Geralt swapped stories of The Path (and Vesemir took them to task for their mistakes) Jaskier sat quietly, listening to their stories and adding when Geralt left out an important detail. “No, no, my dear Witcher, you're remembering it wrong. You set the fake sheep out for the griffin good and proper, but when the real sheep got out into the field, you _and_ the farmer were running around, trying to corral them back before the griffin smelled the buckthorne. It was the funniest thing I've seen in my life. Geralt slipped in a mud puddle while chasing a sheep, his feet went _over_ his head and his hair was fucking caked with it until we got back to the inn.”

Lambert pounded the table in laughter and Eskel threw his head back. Geralt glared at Jaskier. “Why did I bring you?”

Jaskier purred and leaned into his side. They all smelled his arousal on the air, it hadn't died down since he entered the castle. Were humans just like that or was this one particularly lustful? “Because I'm going to keep you nice and warm all winter.”

Eskel huffed. “Isn't that my job?”

The room fell silent for a moment. Oh yes, Lambert was waiting for this. Geralt and Eskel had a somewhat serious _thing_ going. They fucked him too, all piled together in one bed, but there was more of a connection for them, beyond the simple carnal need of it or the loneliness of life.

Without missing a beat, Jaskier winked at Eskel. “We can take it in shifts.”

“Ugh, fucking great,” Lambert sighed. “Now all three of you are going to keep me up at night.”

“And with that.” Vesemir stood up from the table and bid them all goodnight, stopping next to Jaskier. “They're going to bring out the wine soon. Do yourself a favor, don't try to keep up.” He patted Jaskier's shoulder and retired to bed.

As Vesemir predicted, Lambert did go to retrieve a few bottles to start. When he returned to the dining hall, Eskel had moved from his seat to the bench with Jaskier and Geralt, leaning into the bard's side, both him and Geralt smelling very interested.

Lambert loved ruining a good moment and slammed the bottles down in front of them, shocking them apart. “If you three are going to fuck, will you just go to Geralt's room and get it over with already?”

A look passed between them and Geralt scooped up a bottle in one hand, Jaskier in the other. “An excellent idea.” Still pinned between him and Eskel, they made their way towards the corridor. Lambert listened to their footsteps climb the stairs, and finally Geralt's door slam shut. Soft, shivering sighs from the bard soon filled his ears and Lambert bit the inside of his cheek.

He sat alone in the dining hall until he finished the first bottle, listening to Jaskier's little sighs and moans through two floors of stone. “Well, this is gonna be a _great_ winter,” he growled to himself.

* * *

It didn't take long for Eskel and Geralt to both attach themselves to Jaskier. When they were supposed to be doing chores, they'd duck into the library and kiss him senseless for a moment before sweeping out again. Sometimes, Lambert saw them all sneak off for an afternoon fuck. He went up to his room and listened through the wall, stroking his cock in time, coming when he heard Jaskier's high pitched moan of completion.

He wasn't jealous. He had guests in the past and ignored the others for a winter. When he thought it was him and Eskel both left out of Geralt's bed for the season, it didn't seem so bad... now, it was just him, lonely and cold in his small room, only the fire to warm him when he'd normally be in Geralt's bed, Eskel pushed up behind him.

It would've been easier if Jaskier was an asshole. He was not. In Lambert's professional opinion of getting treated like dirt by every single human he met, Jaskier was a fucking saint. When he took his lute to dinner, he always asked if Lambert had a request, playing any bawdy ballad the Witcher thought of; he apologized if they bumped in the corridors, and to top it all off, he kept staring at Lambert with those great big moon eyes, like he was taking it from all of them, not just Geralt and Eskel.

One of the few nights they didn't all disappear into Geralt's bed, they sat around drinking after dinner, Jaskier perched on Geralt's lap as Lambert crushed him at Gwent, Eskel watching to game with mild interest. “Not much of a good luck charm, is he?” Lambert chuckled, setting down an archer.

“Mmm, depends,” Jaskier said and climbed out of Geralt's lap. A little tipsy, he sauntered over to Lambert's side of the table and wrapped around him, settling in Lambert's lap instead. Kiss soft lips pressed up against his neck and Lambert's breath caught in his chest. Jaskier smiled into his skin, sliding his lips up to his ear. “You don't have to look so sad all the time. If you want me, all you have to do is ask.” The others heard it, they were all close enough to pick up the bard's voice, but the words were still whispered for Lambert and Lambert alone.

Setting his cards down for a moment, Lambert wrapped his hands around Jaskier's waist, the fingers of one hand trailing up his back. He looked from Geralt's eyes to Eskel's and saw no jealousy, no anger or any other emotion one might expect when watching one's lover go after another. “You sure about this?” he asked, trying to remember how many drinks Jaskier had that night.

“Very sure.” Jaskier's voice was soft, no longer a whisper, but still just for Lambert. “If you think I wasn't planning to have you all the moment Geralt asked me to winter here, you're mad.”

He leaned in and captured Lambert's lips, tongue running along his bottom lip for a moment before pushing in. Lambert gasped in shock and Jaskier took that entry, the sweet wine on his breath almost as intoxicating as the bard. His hand came to cup the back of Lambert's head, threading his fingers through short black hair and pulling him in. The scratch of nails made Lambert gasp again and his cock fill out, nudging Jaskier's ass.

And Geralt and Eskel just... watched. Sitting side by side on the bench, Eskel leaned into Geralt, two sets of golden eyes focused on Jaskier and Lambert. They weren't waiting for Jaskier to finish whatever he was doing to resume the game, or even trying to rush, they just sat quietly, letting Lambert have his moment with their bard.

After he stole enough of Lambert's breath, Jaskier pulled back and slipped out of his lap. Instead of returning to Geralt, he pushed Lambert back. Getting the message, he scooted his bench away from the table, giving Jaskier room to settle on the floor between his knees. Sky blue eyes never left his face as deft fingers opened his breeches, bringing Lambert's cock out. He was already hard—difficult not to be after getting a lap full of bard—but Jaskier started stroking him anyway, licking his lips at the thick length in his hands.

“Maybe I'll be your good luck charm tonight instead,” he said, and leaned forward. Lips a breath away from Lambert's cock, he smirked. “If you win, I'll give you a special treat later.” Those plush pink lips parted, closing around the head.

It took a moment, what with Jaskier's tongue flicking across his slit, massaging his foreskin while that far too clever hand worked the rest of his shaft, spit already flowing from his mouth, making everything oh so slick... but Lambert managed to turn his mind back to the game. It was his turn. Focus now split between the cards (which were a little hard to read) and Jaskier sucking his cock like his life depended on it.

Geralt played with a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. If he thought he finally had a chance now that Lambert was good and distracted, the White Wolf had another thing coming. With his attention split, Lambert's orgasm took longer to build despite Jaskier's best efforts, and he teetered on the edge just long enough to crush Geralt before dropping his cards, hand going to the back of Jaskier's head as he came.

Jaskier didn't swallow his spit, his mouth sloppy and wet, Lambert's come adding to the mess. He quickly pushed up to his knees and kissed Lambert again, tongue coated with spend, feeding it back to him. Lambert jerked in shock, then moaned at the bitter saltiness and the sweetness of Jaskier's kiss. A dribble made its way down Jaskier's lip and Lambert was quick to lick it away, swallowing his own come and stealing Jaskier's breath.

Geralt and Eskel shifted in their seats. “Well, I think that's where we should call it a night.” Geralt fully reached down the front of his breeches to adjust himself before standing up, hard cock very obvious.

“What's my reward?” Lambert whispered.

Jaskier chuckled, the sound deeper than his usual bright trill of laughter. “How about I spend the night in your room? Give Eskel and Geralt some privacy...”

They all saw it by now, over the last few days, Geralt and Eskel's longing looks got more and more heated. During a normal winter, they were fine telling Lambert to fuck off for a night so they could ravage each other, but Jaskier was a guest, and a randy one at that, keeping them occupied almost every night. They cared for him, that much was clear, but there was a bond between the other wolves that sometimes needed a little attention.

“Sounds good,” Geralt said.

Lambert needed no more prodding. Pulling Jaskier into his arms, he urged him to wrap his legs around his hips, leaving Lambert's hands free to clean up the cards (no telling what Vesemir might do if he found they left a mess in the morning) before heading up to his room. He didn't even look back to see what Geralt and Eskel were up to. He did not care, not when he had Jaskier wrapped around him, the man's hard cock nudging his stomach.

As soon as Jaskier's feet hit the floor, he kicked his boots off and started stripping, eyes watching Lambert put away his cards in a safe place. He dodged out of Lambert's hands when he reached for him. “Don't you want to watch me?” His hands slowed, playing with the ties of his breeches, wrapping the cord around his finger a few times before letting it go and pushing them down. Pulling his shirt off, his arms stretched up high, showing off his toned stomach. Not as muscled as a Witcher, but still flat and strong.

Lambert licked his lips and went to reach for Jaskier again, pausing for a moment to see if it was allowed this time. Jaskier nodded and arched into the touch, letting Lambert pull him in close. Trailing kisses down Jaskier's neck, Lambert let himself drown in his smell, warm and sweaty like all humans, but with lavender and wood from his lute, Jaskier's natural fragrance was light and pleasing. It calmed Lambert's mind.

Jaskier slowly pulled Lambert out of his clothes and guided them over to the bed, urging the Witcher down on his back. “Oil?” Lambert nodded at the table next to the bed and Jaskier found a little bottle before settling himself across that wide chest, fingers trailing over scarred Witcher skin. He'd seen it before and intended to take a moment worshiping those scars, hard earned badges of Lambert's continued survival. If not for those scars showing last minute escapes and maneuvers that gave him the edge, they might never have met. Yes, Jaskier loved every broken piece of skin he set his eyes on, he told Geralt many times and reminded Eskel daily when he went to kiss his scars.

The scars cutting through Lambert's face weren't as bad as Eskel's, but no less deserving of attention. Jaskier bent forward and pressed his lips to the top of the longest one, kissing down over Lambert's eyebrow and cheek, following the smooth skin, poking out his tongue to lick softly. Lambert moaned, fingers tightening on Jaskier's hips.

Once he adored his fill, Jaskier sat up, looking down at Lambert. He twined their fingers together, biting his lip as he took in the new body below him. “I'd like to fuck you, if that's alright? You can have me if you like, but really...” He squeezed his legs around Lambert, feeling the firm body below him. “I've been thinking about your tight ass all winter.”

Lambert chuckled, then groaned as Jaskier rolled his hips, brushing their cocks together with some serious intent. He knew something of Eskel and Geralt's relationship, how the great White Wolf loved to be taken, loved and cared for on occasion. Eskel filled that need very well and apparently so did Jaskier. Lambert was happy any way they'd have him, and nodded. “Sure, as long as I get a piece of you sometime this year.”

Jaskier chuckled again and slid down Lambert's legs, fat cock heavy against his skin. “Don't worry. We'll get to everything eventually.” With most people, _eventually_ was a brush off, a weak promise they didn't intend to keep. The way Jaskier said it, his voice deep and sure, eyes clear... Lambert couldn't help but believe him.

Jaskier slid all the way off before pushing Lambert's legs apart and settling between them. The bottle of oil set aside for the moment, long fingers stroked across Lambert's sides, over his hips, down his thighs, touching tenderly but devouring him in a way. Lute callouses brushed him when Jaskier squeezed just hard enough. He hadn't touched Lambert's cock yet, skirting around it when he got too close, thumb running over his sac instead. Tracing the seam, Jaskier went all the way down, the dry tip of his thumb feeling Lambert out, sliding behind his balls. He didn't go any farther, not yet.

Now he reached for the oil, drenching his fingers before returning them to the spot just behind Lambert's balls, circling around the hidden pucker. Lambert chuckled softly, but the sound caught in his throat. “You've seen Geralt's cock, right? You don't need to be gentle.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Maybe I want to be gentle.” Two slick fingers breached him and Lambert gasped, a soft noise that came from the novelty of Geralt's bard opening him up than any real surprise. Jaskier smirked and pulled his fingers out, plunging in once more to hear the sound again.

“What?” Lambert huffed. “You've occupied them all winter so far.”

“Now I'm here to occupy you.”

Two fingers became three and Lambert longed to hold Jaskier. All in good time. As soon as he was ready, Jaskier poured oil over his own cock and sat between Lambert's legs again. Hand behind the head, he pushed in, making Lambert gasp and shiver and quake all at once. It was so fucking _tender_ , Lambert had never felt anything like it. Geralt and Eskel weren't rough (not unless he asked) but they knew each other's bodies so well, their limits and preferences, Lambert forgot what it was like to have a new lover carefully explore him for the first time. Whores didn't explore, they let you take what you wanted and demanded their coin.

Jaskier's soft eyes never left Lambert's face as he bottomed out. He urged Lambert to wrap his legs around his hips and leaned forward, curling his hands around Lambert's wrists. He didn't push them together or hold him down, the simple weight of his grip was all Jaskier wanted. He dropped his head into the bend of Lambert's neck and let him rub and scent Jaskier to his heart's content.

Lambert sighed at each gesture, each new addition to their love making. While Lambert wasn't the most romantic Witcher in the world, he knew the difference between making love and a simple fuck. Whenever Geralt and Eskel were in a mood but didn't want to send him away, he watched Geralt slowly roll his hips, Eskel arching back, both bent around each other, chests rising and falling in tandem. He'd seen Geralt and Eskel make love, he knew what it looked like. Now he knew what it felt like.

Jaskier pressed kisses up his stretched arms, pushing his wrists into the grip of one hand, dropping the other down to wrap around his cock. Moaning and writhing, Lambert gave over to Jaskier. The bard seemed to sense the surrender and rubbed his face across Lambert's neck again. “Yes, like that. You don't have to worry about a single thing, I want to take care of you. Let me take care...” A human, taking care of a Witcher? An insane statement in any other part of the Continent, but not here in their home, the place where they got to be themselves.

Pressure and heat started to build at the base of Lambert's spine. He arched into Jaskier, pushing against his hold a little as he ran out of room to expand. Jaskier's thrusts sped up, pleasure sparking deep inside. The wave built and crested, Lambert opened his mouth to groan only for Jaskier's lips to swallow it away, hips stuttering inside of him, cock twitching as he came as well.

He sighed into Lambert's mouth and pulled away, pulling out and settling on the bed beside him for a moment. “You have a wash basin?” he asked.

“Mmm, by the door.”

Jaskier stumbled from the bed and rooted around for a clean cloth, returning to wipe the come off Lambert's stomach and between his legs. He noticed, with some interest, that Lambert's arms were still over his head, right where Jaskier put them. “Did you like that?” he asked lightly.

Suddenly noticing his position, Lambert moved his arms to rest limply at his sides. “Yes. I did.” Geralt and Eskel held him down sometimes and took what they wanted, all in good fun. It always lit a strange fire inside of him. Lambert hadn't examined that feeling until a fucking human with eyes like an angel asked him to. “I don't think I'd like more. I don't want you to hit me, or...” Lambert trailed off. He'd seen _those_ rooms in whore houses. Passed by them on his way towards his no frills fuck. The belts and switches, a few too many ropes for his comfort... a shiver ran through him. Too much like the old days, he didn't want to think about it.

Jaskier curled up on his side, pressing as much of his body against Lambert's as possible. “No, I don't like that either. I just... I don't do this. With Geralt or Eskel. They don't mind if I want to be in charge or tell them what to do, but they don't _need_ it.” He reached up and swept a hand across Lambert's face. “When Geralt invited me for winter, I imagined meeting you all. He told me about Eskel, of course, how they've always been _close_.”

Lambert snorted, leaning into the hand stroking his face. “Is that what they're calling it?”

“He also said you're the only one from your class to survive.” Jaskier didn't let Lambert deflect, he just fucking cut through it all. “You have them, you really do. But I... I want you to have me too. Do you mind if I take care of you this season?”

Lambert rolled over, wrapping Jaskier up in his arms, pressing their noses together. “That sounds... nice.” Ever since fanatics overran the keep and Lambert watched his brothers die, he tried to fill the void by reaching out to the few remaining Witcher schools—Cats were his favorite, the insane mother fuckers. And Aiden... Aiden was _special_ , but there was no reason Jaskier couldn't be special too.

They fell asleep curled together, Jaskier held tight to Lambert's chest, the human heart so strong, the beat of it bled through into Lambert's dreams.

To put it simply, the rest of winter was bliss. Most nights spent in Geralt's mammoth bed, four sets of arms and legs tangled together, a lover never far away when the need to feel or the want to touch arose. And sometimes, Jaskier looked at Lambert from across the room, his eyes burning, lips soft. They'd disappear for the night, Jaskier's hands around Lambert's wrists or his neck, never pushing or holding him down, just the weight to let him know someone else had him, to let him know he was taken care of.

The end of winter took Lambert by surprise. Had it been three and a half months already? He hardly noticed the time... A few days before Jaskier and Geralt were set to depart, they sat across the table from each other, the bard strumming idly at his lute. He looked up and caught Lambert's eye, a soft smile on his lips.

The pang in Lambert's chest hit him like a rock slide. _Fucking shit, I'm in love with Geralt's bard._

It wasn't love, couldn't be, Lambert knew what love felt like—when Aiden looked at him with that fucking insane gleam in his eye and his mind stopped working for a minute. But for the next few days, whenever Jaskier looked at him, touched him, fucked him, Lambert's mind stalled before falling into misty happiness.

The night before Geralt headed out, Lambert managed to find him on his own in the library, Jaskier and Eskel occupied somewhere else. Probably waiting for them to join... No, he had to focus. This couldn't go unsaid for another year. It would only be worse next winter.

The sour smell of Lambert's anxiety made Geralt stop, book dangling from his fingers. He turned, eyes finding Lambert right away. “What's wrong?”

 _Nothing_ , he wanted to say. Lambert spent the week trying to think of the right words and came up blank, so he blurted out the first thing that came into his head. “I'm in love with your bard.” Geralt's brow furrowed, but he stayed silent. “I didn't mean to. He's a nice little song bird, I thought we'd have fun. But he's—” Why did he stop? Geralt saw what he and Jaskier did, they all watched each other fuck, Eskel and Geralt wrapped together as Jaskier fucked into Lambert, hands held together over his head. No one said a word about it. “I never thought I'd feel this way about a human. Especially with Aiden...” Again, his words failed. They all knew about Aiden too, how they met up on The Path sometimes and spent a fortnight fucking their brains out, a little break from the horrors of their shared calling. Wolves and Cats didn't get along, but Aiden was special.

“Lambert.” Geralt stepped towards him, hands relaxed at his sides. “What are you saying?”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, he couldn't look at Geralt right now. “I don't think I can think of him as just another winter fuck... If you need me to stay somewhere else next winter, I can.” He didn't want to, he hated the idea of being away from his brothers, but if Geralt wanted space for him and Jaskier, Lambert would give it. He'd give Jaskier anything he needed, which was a new and slightly terrifying thought.

The stale air in the library shifted and Lambert opened his eyes to find Geralt right in front of him. He went to step back, but Geralt followed, cupping a hand behind his neck and pulling their foreheads together, so close they were sharing the same air. Lambert relaxed into the familiar embrace, the way they greeted each other after a long season on The Path.

“Why do you think I brought him here?” Geralt whispered. “As soon as I told him of Eskel, he wanted to come, meet you all. He said he didn't care if I loved another, he loves us all, whether he'd met us or not.” Geralt shook his head, marveling at Jaskier. He did that almost daily. “I didn't say _that_ about Eskel, he just knew. He said it was my tone. I thought he was crazy, but turns out he was right. Eskel told me... he said he loves me.

“Life fucks us over, Destiny is a bitch, but now I have an insane human who insists we're worth more than the world thinks. Why wouldn't I share that feeling with you? I share everything else with you bastards.”

He went to pull away, but Lambert caught him, kissing hungrily, biting and nipping a little. Geralt gave as good as he got and after a moment, they were both hot and bothered and more than a little hard. “Thank you,” Lambert whispered. “For sharing him... Tell Eskel I said that and I'll light your bed on fire.”

Geralt laughed. “Empty threat, you love my bed as much as I do.” He kissed Lambert once more before pulling back. “But I won't say anything. The fact that you secretly care will die with me.”

“Good.”

Geralt finished up in the library and they left to go track down Eskel and Jaskier. They were off in the morning, time for one last good night. When Lambert headed down the mountain a few days later, thoughts of next winter filled his head.

The next year, Jaskier arrived with Geralt and immediately jumped into Lambert's arms. “I have something for you,” he whispered.

They all settled in, Geralt and Eskel taking a moment alone to reacquaint, leaving Jaskier to push Lambert back and climb into his lap. He held something behind his back and made Lambert sit still before showing him. Two woven leather bands sat in his hands. “Eskel gave me a journal for my compositions, and Geralt gave me a dagger a few months ago—for when I'm not with him. I didn't have anything from you, and I thought...”

He sighed and started again. “In my home town, by the coast, whenever sailors had wives on shore and left for the season, they always came back with two leather bracelets. The thing is, they never gave the other bracelet to their wife. Two shipmates might have matching bracelets. Took me forever to figure out that meant—”

“They were together,” Lambert said. “When they were at sea.”

“Yes.” Jaskier offered one of the bracelets to him and Lambert took it. “Mine goes on the left hand, yours is on the right.”

“Why?” Lambert did it anyways, but he wanted to know the reason.

A small smile flashed across Jaskier's face. “Well, the _giver_ is traditionally on the left hand. The _recipient_ is on the right.”

Lambert chuckled and inspected the bracelet, three leather strips woven together in a simple braid, sturdy but still decorative, wouldn't look out of place with his kit. “Why do I have the feeling that's talking about more than the gift _giver_?”

Jaskier didn't answer, he pulled Lambert in, crushing their lips together. Geralt and Eskel would be here soon, for now, he wanted their moment. Lambert relaxed into the kiss, turning into mush in Jaskier's hands as delicate fingers lay across his throat. Oh, this was going to be another lovely winter.

The decades went by. Jaskier came almost every winter, loving them, treating them like the most beautiful men in all the Continent. Because to him, they were. All Witchers were a friend of Jaskier, but only Wolf Witchers shared his bed and his heart. When the first bracelet wore out—fell off Lambert's wrist during a contract—he went back to look for it, but it was long gone. He found another set in a shop, not three braided strands, but the same natural color leather. He presented one to Jaskier the next year and the bard started to cry happy tears. Even though he was the giver this time, Lambert kept it on his right hand and opened his legs to allow Jaskier to take over him, body and soul.

They had quite a few new bracelets over the years as the old ones wore out. The final one was a thick black band, Jaskier liked the weight of it and how it helped steady his trembling wrist when he tried to strum his lute well into his nineties. It was the bracelet he wore for the last years of his life, and it was the bracelet Lambert removed from his wrist before they lit the funeral pyre.

Geralt and Eskel stood behind him, Eskel with a hand on both of them. They each had a piece of Jaskier and Geralt didn't begrudge Lambert's grief.

Lambert felt the strong hand around his chest before he felt himself try to lunge towards the fire. He pushed against Eskel's hold to find Geralt's arms there as well. They all sank to the ground, bending together, faces blank, devoid of tears that their bodies wouldn't allow them to cry.

“Don't go,” Geralt whispered. “If you go with him, I won't be far behind. Then Eskel will be all alone.”

They stayed until the pyre burnt itself to ash. It didn't make sense. Jaskier had a longer life than most mortals could ever dream of, he passed peacefully in his sleep, in their winter home at Kaer Morhen. It was the most fitting end for their beloved bard... So why was Lambert so very empty now?

* * *

Lambert got a text from Geralt and booked it across three provinces, arriving in Upper Posada in less than a week. The last time Geralt sent the cryptic text of _**You have to see something**_ , it was a castle with five fucking strigas trapped inside. The local mage was cursing and killing girls the mayor knocked up, and the sheriff just stumbled across it. They managed to cure four of the girls, used the mayor as bait, then killed the mage for good measure.

He saw Geralt and Eskel sitting on a bench outside the gas station and parked the El Camino, getting out to greet them. They looked calm and mostly uninjured, so whatever he had to see wasn't so life threatening. “What's going on?”

They both stood up in tandem, walking over to him in step. Uh-oh, they only mirrored each other when they thought Lambert needed an intervention. He hadn't had any bad vices since the eighties—fisstech mixed with cocaine was a hell of a thing, enough to knock Lambert out for a good twelve hours, dull the centuries old pain that flared up on occasion. They locked him in his room at Corvo Bianco for half a season, let him exhaust himself before having “a talk.” It worked, he hadn't turned to drugs or excessive drink in almost forty years.

“You need to brace yourself,” Geralt said.

“For what? You didn't give me any details. If it's another striga prison dungeon, I'm definitely going to murder every wizard I find for the next twenty years.”

Eskel's eyes flashed to the diner across the street, but Geralt held his gaze. “There's a kid in this town, he looks like Jaskier. His _name_ is Jaskier, but it's just a family resemblance.”

“Jaskier probably had a dozen adorable little bastards running around the Continent, it's no shock his family line made it this far,” Eskel said. “We thought you'd want to see him.”

A fist-sized knot twisted in Lambert's stomach. “He's called—how? Fucking how is anyone called Jaskier?” His lungs tightened, breathing getting harder and harder. Eskel stayed back so as not to crowd him, but Geralt swooped in, a hand under Lambert's chin, bringing their eyes together. _You good?_ he asked without words. Lambert nodded. “I want to see him.” They didn't have any portraits of Jaskier, but Eskel liked to sketch, filling pages and pages of notebooks with their remembered visage of him. It might be nice to see the real thing again. Or, close enough to the real thing. A cute kid with the same blue eyes maybe.

They made their way across the street to the diner, Geralt's hand on the small of Lambert's back. No one glanced at them twice for the intimate gesture, it was still their eyes that drew looks. Especially now when they were the last three Witchers on the Continent, hardly anyone had seen them all together like this.

The bell over the door jingled and they walked into the diner. Jaskier was already working, his back to them. He waved over his shoulder. “Sit anywhere! Be right with you.”

Lambert moved take a table, but Geralt held him in place. They waited by the door until Jaskier turned around, luminous smile a beacon through the dark night. “Ah, you're back! And—oh my gods—is this the other Witcher? Lambert, right?” he stepped forward, hand outstretched. “I'm Jaskier, pleased to meet you.”

All the color drained from Lambert's face. His heart started to race and Geralt and Eskel heard the change. They moved in close but Lambert pushed them away. He turned and ran back into the night, across the street, into the trees that surrounded the town. Geralt ran from the diner, leaving Eskel with a very confused Jaskier.

Running across the deserted road wasn't a problem and Geralt quickly caught Lambert's scent, that and the fierce hammering of his heart. Lambert should be able to control his heart beat, make it slow, if his mind was too muddled to bring his body to heel...

He found Lambert crouched behind a fallen tree, head in his hands, rocking back and forth. Geralt dropped to the ground but didn't get close, he didn't want to startle him. “What part was too much?”

Lambert's gaze snapped over to him, eyes red and puffy as his body tried to cry and tried to stop itself from crying at the same time. “Geralt, it's not—he's not—”

Geralt moved closer. “Lambert, tell me what's going on.”

He shook his head. “It's not just the same genes. It's him—actually fucking him.”

Geralt furrowed his brow. “How do you know?”

Lambert lifted his right hand, showing Geralt the black leather cuff he always wore. Almost seven hundred years now, it was the last gift Lambert gave Jaskier and whenever it wore out, he'd find another just like it. “His left wrist,” Lambert whispered, voice almost shaking. “He's wearing the same band.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wizards are bastards and I like the idea of Lambert killing them just to stop whatever future nonsense they might bring.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier had gone through nearly nineteen years of life without seeing a single Witcher when all three of them arrived in his family diner in a span of a month and a half. Jaskier was not a gambling man, and Destiny did not play dice. So why the fuck were the last three Witchers on the Continent suddenly tripping over themselves to stare at him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again: I'm playing fast and loose with time because who the hell knows how long driving distances are on the Continent. Not me, and I'm not about to do the math to find out. I'm also playing fast and loose with canon, taking the pieces I like from all three sources and forgetting the rest.
> 
> There are more flashbacks in this chapter, and the pacing might seem a bit weird because I squished them all together, but trust me...
> 
> Please enjoy, and thank you to everyone reading so far, thank you for coming with me to the modern Continent, it's been really fun modernizing this world.

Jaskier had gone through nearly nineteen years of life without seeing a single Witcher. He read about them. As soon as he found those old, oh so fragile journals and manuscripts in his gran's attic, he was obsessed. There was a man in his family line who not only met Witchers, but was friends with them, had gone on their adventures and written ballad after ballad about them. He could only imagine a life like that.

And here he was trying to save up enough money for Oxenfurt Academy tuition so he could follow in his ancestor's footsteps and possibly, _maybe_ someday meet a real live Witcher, when all three of them arrived in his family diner in a span of a month and a half. Jaskier was not a gambling man, and Destiny did not play dice. So why the fuck were the last three Witchers on the Continent suddenly tripping over themselves to stare at him?

At first, he put it off as misplaced caution on their part. Most humans were wary of Witchers, perhaps they kept their distance not to crowd him... And yet, why did Geralt of Rivia continue to show up just to get served some half decent coffee and eat Jaskier's weight in country friend steak? Maybe he did know Jaskier's ancestor and didn't want to make it weird?

The night he showed up with Eskel clinched it, they had to know the original Jaskier, why else would Geralt bring another Witcher with him? It was probably strange, hearing a name from so long ago, memories flooding back. He didn't blame them for being cagey. Next time they came in, Jaskier vowed to bring it up again, as respectfully as possible, make sure they knew he wasn't pressuring them for stories, he was just happy they came back to see him. He didn't want to make it weird...

However, the next time, it was all three of them. Before Jaskier even had a chance to greet Lambert (the youngest of them all, though young was a strange term when you were pushing eight hundred) he bolted, Geralt following, leaving Eskel to grumble an apology and take off after them. Jaskier was prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt—stressful job, weird hours, days at a time on the road, it wore on a person—but any doubt disappeared the moment he saw Lambert's face. Before he ran out, their eyes locked. For a split second, Jaskier saw pure, raw emotion splashed over that handsome, scarred face. Lambert looked like he'd seen a fucking ghost.

That's when the dreams started.

Jaskier sat in a large hall with a roaring fire, the smells of cooking and food on the air, strumming his lute, watching Eskel and Geralt chat quietly over a shared bottle of something. He leaned back into a warm body, and Lambert practically purred. He slid a hand down Jaskier's chest, cupping him through his breeches. Jaskier missed a note and Lambert chuckled, the chance to distract the bard well worth the elbow in the ribs.

“What do you say, little lark?” he purred into Jaskier's ear. “You try your best to play, I try my best to distract you.” He already had Jaskier's breeches open, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock.

Eskel looked over at them and sighed. “You know Vesemir doesn't like us fucking in the dining hall.”

“What Vesemir doesn't know won't hurt him,” Lambert said.

“Yes, but what Vesemir smells in the morning will make him hurt you.” Geralt and Eskel chuckled, their eyes on Jaskier as he made his decision.

Lambert wasn't stroking him yet, just the promise of more with that large, hot hand wrapped around his cock. He leaned back into Lambert's chest and groaned. “Fine, you're on. What shall I play?”

“Hmm...” He through for a moment, dragging his tongue up the back of Jaskier's neck the whole time. Cheater. “The one about the succubus.”

Jaskier laughed and started in on the first cords. Eskel shot him a glare. “I knew I shouldn't have told you that story.”

“Relax, I've never played it anywhere. I only use it to tease you.” Jaskier took a breath and started singing, Lambert's hand stroking lightly.

_The Witcher life is hard and grim,_

_There is no light, the world seems dim,_

_But sometimes it's all worth the fuss,_

_Like when Eskel fucked a succubus!_

Eskel groaned and went to stand up, but Geralt pulled him back, wrapping his arms around wide shoulders and pressing his face into his neck. “Lambert's not the only one who can distract.” Eskel melted, suddenly pliant in Geralt's hands. He let the White Wolf pull him onto his lap, hands darting under his shirt to stroke his skin, teeth latching into his neck.

Across the room, Lambert did the same. He slipped his free hand under Jaskier's shirt and trailed his fingers through the thick hair covering the bard's torso, his other hand squeezing a little on each down stroke. Jaskier missed the first note, his voice wavering. “Ah, not fair. You all can't get in on it...”

“Keep playing,” Eskel whispered, extending his neck for Geralt to suck on his throat. “I forgot how that song goes.”

Jaskier tried his best to remember the words, remember where to put his fingers—fucking remember how to play the fucking lute. But as soon as Lambert bit down on his shoulder, thumb sliding over his slit, he gave up. Setting his lute safely on the table, he leaned back, thrusting into Lambert's distracting hands. “Fine, you fucking win. Make me come, I'll take the blame for it tomorrow. Tell Vesemir I seduced you all with my wily bard ways.”

A deep chuckle right next to his ear—like warm molasses poured over gravel—was the first signal that Jaskier was in more trouble than he thought. “Oh, you think I'll make it that easy for you?” Lambert whispered. The hand tightened around the base of his cock, chasing his orgasm back and Jaskier groaned. This was going to be a long night.

Jaskier woke with a start, heat sparking through his hips, cock twitching and pulsing in his underwear. Did he just... did he come? Throwing the blankets off, he looked down to find his briefs sticking uncomfortably, cock sensitive like just after a good orgasm.

He slumped back on the bed, body thrumming, shaking in the best way. Jaskier just had the best orgasm he'd had in a very long time... from a wet dream... about Witchers. “Fuck.”

Jaskier snuggled back against Geralt as the Witcher pressed kisses down his neck. They were halfway up the mountain, nestled together in the same bedroll for warmth, and it was far too cold to fool around, but the soft touch was nice and definitely appreciated after such a long day climbing. He was about to drift off to sleep when soft kisses turned to soft nibbles... then a firm bite.

He sighed but didn't push Geralt away. “If I find you're marking me before we see the others, I will be very cross indeed.”

Geralt finished sucking a love bite into Jaskier's neck before sliding his warm scarf back in place to cover the delicate skin. “I did find you first. Sometimes they need a little reminding of that fact.”

“I can think of another way to remind them...”

Geralt stopped moving and sniffed. The smell of Jaskier's lust—usually long frozen by the cold mountain by now—rose from his skin, curling inside Geralt's nose. He couldn't pull away and risk his bard freezing in the night, so he was stuck, his cock now rock hard against the small of Jaskier's back. “You're a bastard.” He ruffled Jaskier's hair with a deep breath. “Tell me.”

Ignoring his own erection, Jaskier wiggled to get Geralt good and riled up. “We could make them watch. The first night, sit them by the fire, make them watch as you fuck into me. They're not allowed to touch me until I come...” Two pairs of golden eyes, massive mountains of muscles quivering to lunge and take him, hold him, but held in place by Jaskier's word alone. Lambert would fucking love it.

Jaskier pressed a hand against his cock to try and get some relief. Geralt clicked his tongue. “You did this to yourself.”

“I know.”

Skin burning with the need to touch his wolves again, Jaskier took a while longer to find sleep. Teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, Geralt whispered in his ear, “I'll fuck you in front of them as many times as you want.”

Jaskier woke with a start, hand already down the front of his briefs. He jerked himself _once_ and came, spilling across his fingers. The fantasy (dream? memory?) of four amber eyes watching him, Geralt fucking into him as Lambert and Eskel licked their lips, filled his mind.

Panting and shaking, he stumbled out of bed to change, cock still a little hard. He jerked off again in the morning, thoughts of silver white hair and golden eyes dancing through his thoughts.

Lambert lay sprawled across Jaskier's lap, breeches pushed down just enough to display the perfect swell of his ass, the leather of his new bracelet brushed against Jaskier's back. Jaskier didn't mind that Lambert lost his present, as long as the Witcher made it home safe, that's all he cared about. He eyed the matching bracelet on his own wrist, his other hand stroking Lambert's hair in his sleep. One thing he learned from walking The Path with Geralt was Witchers never truly slept. Heightened senses pushed them to hold a base level of awareness of their surroundings. Jaskier was proud to say his charms exhausted Geralt a time or two, sending him into a deep and restful sleep they all needed, but only found naturally during the winter.

Kaer Morhen was safe, the only place they could truly let their guard down and rest. It usually took a few days for them to settle, but as soon as Lambert crawled into Jaskier's lap, he was out cold. Deep, steady breaths were music to his ears. He looked out and saw Eskel and Geralt curled on the other side of the bed, white hair obscuring Eskel's face entirely. They managed to take their clothes off before falling into bed, but Lambert was too occupied with Jaskier's lips. He threw his shirt to the floor and pushed his breeches down... then passed flat out, dropping to Jaskier's lap.

They'd wake soon enough, these little naps were just their bodies acclimating to the safety of the keep again. In about an hour, Geralt would wake first complaining of hunger and rouse Eskel. Then they'd all go down and raid Vesemir's kitchen, ignoring the Old Wolf's shouts of “Dinner's in two hours! You can wait!”

Lambert stirred a little, eyes fluttering open. He rubbed his cheek against Jaskier's cock, so close and hot with his breeches unlaced and only his small clothes containing him. He ran his tongue over the material and Jaskier bit down a groan, pulling himself out anyways. “Don't wake the others,” he whispered.

“I think you'll find that depends on how much noise _you_ make.”

With sloppy wet licks, Lambert spent far too long teasing, licking Jaskier from root to tip before opening his mouth and swallowing. He worked up a good amount of saliva and everything gods damn _squelched_. Jaskier shivered at the nasty noises rising from Lambert's mouth. He fisted a hand in Lambert's hair and tugged a little too hard, which only spurred him on. Jaskier had to bite down on his own hand as he came, trying to muffle his moans.

Lambert drank down his spend and pulled off with a cheeky smirk. “Oh, you're going to pay for that,” Jaskier purred. While he never hurt Lambert (it wasn't his style, and Lambert had enough pain in his life without Jaskier bringing it into their bed) he definitely needed a reminder of his place. Maybe after dinner, he'd get Geralt and Eskel to hold Lambert on his knees while Jaskier wanked in front of him, coming across his lovely face...

“I'm looking forward to it.”

Eskel started to stir and rolled into them, smelling sex pouring off Jaskier. “No fair starting without us,” he mumbled.

“You were sleeping,” Jaskier said.

Geralt rolled over as well, eyes still closed but following his nose towards the others. “Not anymore.” They all descended on Jaskier, licking and sucking various parts of him. It wasn't so much sexy as overwhelming; these three Witchers, so much more than simple men, gave themselves to Jaskier to love him and hold him and bury him in their affection. He was fairly certain, no one being on the Continent had ever felt so loved and adored.

Jaskier's eyes snapped open, the pulsing in his cock dwarfed only by the ache in his heart. Love flared in his chest—burning, blinding, inexplicable love—and tears welled in his eyes even as he thrust a hand into his briefs and jerked frantically.

Come cooling on his fingers, Jaskier closed his eyes, trying to recapture the dream. Every contour of Lambert's face was burned into his mind, a face he'd only seen for a split second. So how did he know it so well? How did he know what Geralt's hair looked like when it was down, flowing freely over his shoulders, tangling around Eskel's face? How did he know what the Witchers—three almost mythical gods among men—looked like in their most intimate moments? This wasn't just fantasy anymore, it wasn't possible.

For the next week, Jaskier spent every spare moment going through the first Jaskier's old journals. A lot of pages weren't legible after so long (poor storage conditions in his gran's attic, his preservation efforts only helped so much now) but here and there, he saw mentions of Lambert and Eskel, small doodles of wolves mixed in with song lyrics or elder speech—he looked those up years ago, mainly curse words and insults directed at some 'vile witch' or another bard called Valdo Marx.

The name Kaer Morhen didn't appear once, nor mentions of a winter spent fucking all three Witchers, or a special bond with Lambert. Not that he expected the journals to be _that_ upfront. After going through them again and again, Jaskier couldn't find an explanation for his dreams. His mind wasn't cobbling together images and ideas he read and mixing them with the three very sexy Witchers he just met, there was definitely something more happening here. Add in Lambert's reaction to meeting him and Jaskier could not believe this was all a coincidence. The next time Geralt of Rivia showed up in his diner, Jaskier was going to ask for a fucking explanation.

* * *

Though Jaskier's resolve was as hard as steel, he wasn't a complete idiot. There was no way Geralt would come back after Lambert looked him full in the face and _ran away_. No matter his dreams, Jaskier resigned himself to never seeing the Witchers again, one more interesting thing in his life slipping away... Perhaps as an old man, he'd meet them again, his hair as white as Geralt's, face wrinkled while they were all perfectly ageless. Then and only then would Jaskier get his questions answered, after a life time of wondering what might have been. It was almost poetic in a way.

Destiny, it seemed, didn't care for poetry, not when Geralt of fucking Rivia walked back into the diner less than a fortnight after Jaskier's first dream. Fantasies, dreams, memories, whatever they were, Jaskier now knew what was under those dirty jeans, leather jacket and indecently tight shirt. Or, he imagined he knew... He blushed anyway and saw Geralt smirk as he slid into the same booth at the end of the diner.

Oh, didn't that just take the cake? Mr. Waltzes in with no explanation a few weeks after one of their friends visibly starts panicking at the sight of a stranger. Fury chased away the fluttering in Jaskier's stomach and he threw his order pad down on a table. “Bill!” he shouted for the cook. “Take a break!”

Bill emerged from the kitchen, bright red bandanna hiding the eyebrows that were surely at his hairline. He took one look at Jaskier, then down to Geralt, rolling his eyes. He waved at Jaskier and went back into the kitchen. “I'll be out back! Don't give him reason to kill you!”

Completely alone, Jaskier stomped over to Geralt's table, stopping just out of arm's reach. “I'd like some answers.” He managed to keep his voice even despite the blood pounding in his ears.

Smile gone, Geralt nodded to the other side of the booth. Jaskier had half a mind to flip the open sign to closed, but it was after midnight in the middle of nowhere, anyone happening by was probably a felon or another Witcher. He slid into the booth, keeping his hands on top of the table. For some reason, Jaskier knew Geralt got uncomfortable when he couldn't see someone's hands... he didn't want to examine why he knew that.

“Answers,” Geralt said. “To what questions, specifically?”

Jaskier almost groaned at him. If he wasn't going to take this seriously then why fucking come back? But Geralt's eyes were totally focused on Jaskier, molten gold staring, watching his reactions closely. There was no joke to it either, just an earnest desire to give Jaskier the information he wanted. Jaskier tamped down his impatience and tried to focus on what he did want. He never thought he'd get this far.

“Firstly, is Lambert alright? He left in quite a hurry.” He only saw him for a second, but that was more than enough. Scarred and rugged like Geralt and Eskel, Lambert had a wicked edge to him. To see such a man go from cool and collected, to utterly shattered in the space of a breath was heart wrenching. Dreams aside, Jaskier couldn't stop thinking about the pain he saw in those golden eyes and how much he wanted to make it go away.

Geralt shrugged. “He won't answer my calls. Eskel said he's fine, just... you were a surprise. It's our own fault, should have prepared him better.”

“Prepared him for what?” Geralt's eyes met his and Jaskier's heart pounded in his chest.

“I'm sorry. I lied to you. Before. I knew the original Jaskier. We all did. He was a very dear friend.”

All the air rushed out of Jaskier's lungs. That admission wasn't as bad as he expected. “Alright. Thank you, for telling me.” But something still didn't add up. “Why did you need to prepare Lambert to see me? Surely, you told him my name.”

Geralt's jaw tightened, his eyes looking somehow deeper into Jaskier's. “We should have told him about the resemblance.”

“Resemblance,” Jaskier repeated.

“You look... like him,” Geralt said, eyes now wide and a little frantic. “Exactly. Like him.”

The corners of Jaskier's lips turned up in a small smile, one Geralt saw on the first Jaskier's face so many times, he could draw it from memory. That one little smile and the dam burst. “Your eyes are the same color—like the sky over the high mountains—I never thought I'd see them again and here you fucking are. I know you're not him, can't be, not after so long, not after we watched him die. But my mind is trying to tell me it can only be him. The way you move, I keep expecting you to walk out of that kitchen holding a lute.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, balling his hands into fists. How he longed to touch Jaskier, prejudices about Witchers remained and since he was probably scaring the boy half to death right now with this confession, Geralt didn't dare ask for more. “You are the spitting image. Seven hundred years and it's like Jaskier fucking decided to walk back into a tavern in Upper Posada like nothing had happened. I know you're not him, but my ears and my eyes and your fucking smell are trying to tell me that you are. It's difficult, more so for Lambert. I shouldn't have come back, but I needed—” Geralt cut off and leaned back in the booth, as far away from Jaskier as possible. His eyes were still squeezed shut, he couldn't look at that face anymore and not kiss it.

The hum of the florescent lights and mechanical sounds drifted over from the kitchen. Nothing in the world was silent anymore, too much technology filling the air with useless noise. Geralt tried to block it out before it became too much and he had to leave. He didn't want to scare Jaskier, he wanted to stay forever...

“I'm sorry.” Jaskier's soft whisper cut through the din and Geralt opened his eyes. Tears welled in impossibly blue eyes and his heart caught. “I don't wish to cause you grief. I know there's nothing I can do, but I wish to lessen your burden.”

“Fuck.” Geralt's voice cracked around the word. “You even sound like him.”

He forced himself to look up and there Jaskier sat, across the chipped formica table, hands close enough to touch. In his very, very long life, only a few people reached out towards a Witcher while the rest of the world pulled away. He so wanted to reach out and take those elegant hands in his.

“I'll tell Lambert you're worried about him. I don't know if that will make it better or worse.” But sometimes worse was better, pain preferable to nothing at all. Jaskier's hand twitched to his wrist, over the black leather cuff that set Lambert off. Geralt wondered... “He has a cuff just like yours. Did you see it?”

Jaskier blinked at the sudden change of subject and his fingers tightened on the cuff. “Yes, I think I did. His is black? But it used to be brown leather...” He closed his eyes and tried to remember the dream, Lambert curled around him, leather cuff brushing his back, soft natural leather, coloring too expensive in those days.

Jaskier opened his eyes and startled a little. Geralt was glaring at him, lips pressed into a tight line. Eyes that were soft a moment ago turned cool and calculating, scanning over Jaskier's face like he was searching for an answer. “How did you know that?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier shrugged. “I, uh, it's silly.”

“Tell me.”

The smooth rumble in Geralt's voice poured down Jaskier's spine like warm water, flowing over him, making him feel safe. He suddenly wanted to tell Geralt everything. “I had a dream, several dreams. My overactive imagination, mostly. I was with you, and Eskel and Lambert, we were at Kaer Morhen.”

Geralt twitched. “How do you know that name?”

“Kaer Morhen? I don't know. Maybe I read it in one of the journals?”

“No, you didn't.” Jaskier's composition journals were for his song notes and little anecdotes he couldn't figure out how to turn into songs. He was flowery with his poetry and hardly addressed anything by name. Kaer Morhen was always a den, or a keep. In all the songs Jaskier tested out on them, sang at the top of his lungs to annoy, or actually played for a crowd, he usually mentioned their names only once, followed by a silly nickname—White Wolf, Dark Wolf, Young Wolf, Lambert hated that one—and he never uttered the name of Kaer Morhen, not once. His actual journals chronicling their lives together were safe with Eskel in Corvo Bianco. Ever year was accounted for, only a few of his composition books had escaped their grasp.

 _Reincarnations are rare, not unheard of_... the too hopeful voice in Geralt's mind whispered. After so many years of pain and monsters, Geralt learned to ignore the spark of hope inside him that refused to die. This time, he started listening.

Grabbing a napkin out of the silver dispenser, Geralt yanked the pen clipped to Jaskier's shirt and scribbled down his number. “I have to go. This is my number, call me if anything happens, but right now, stay put. I'll be back in a few weeks.”

He slid out of the booth, Jaskier hot on his heels, napkin clutched in his hand. “Call if anything happens? I live in the middle of nowhere, what's supposed to happen?” Geralt wasn't sure, but given the original Jaskier's penchant for finding danger, he couldn't be too careful. “Geralt, where are you going? I'm sorry for telling you about the dreams, I know it's weird, but—”

Geralt whirled around, cupping Jaskier's jaw with his hand and stunning him into silence. He looked into those oh so familiar eyes and an old pang in his chest almost made him moan. “That's not it. I need to follow up on a few things. I will be back. I promise, I'll tell you more then. Stay safe until I return.”

Napkin still clutched in his hand, crushed against his heart, Jaskier nodded. “Alright. Shouldn't be difficult.” Oh, if he only knew. “You stay safe too. I know you're a big scary Witcher, plenty versed in taking care of yourself but all the same. Does anyone ever tell you to be careful? Is anyone concerned for your well being? People should be. Without Witchers, we'd all be—”

Geralt leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Jaskier's lips to stop his babbling. Big scary Witcher, Jaskier used to call him that... the other Jaskier. Fuck, it had been too long since he tasted these lips and now Geralt had to leave.

Jaskier opened his mouth in shock but Geralt didn't take the invitation to deepen the kiss. He just wanted to enjoy the soft, chaste press of Jaskier's plush lips against his own. That mouth that sent beautiful songs out in the world one moment, then spat invective the next. Suddenly, Geralt couldn't imagine that it was a different mouth, it was no longer possible in his mind. This was Jaskier.

He broke the kiss and leaned back to find Jaskier's lips still parted in shock, his cheeks flushed, the smell of arousal rolling off his skin. “Drive safe?” he managed, voice a little higher than usual.

“I will.” One last small peck and Geralt left, climbing into the Scout and heading out of town.

Jaskier stood at the front door of the diner, face flushed, cock impossibly hard, lips buzzing. He stood there and watched Geralt leave. A man who smelled like destiny and heroics swept into Jaskier's life a few months ago, only to sweep out again with a promise of “I will be back.”

The kitchen door clanged open, shocking Jaskier out of his daze. “Are you still alive?” Bill shouted.

“Yes!” With his heart pounding, head spinning, he wasn't entirely sure of that fact...

* * *

Geralt didn't mean to lie to Jaskier but “drive safe” meant something very different to a Witcher, who could see in total darkness and hear anyone else on the road long before they got close enough to collide. He broke every speed limit between Upper Posada and Garstang, slowing only when he saw the tops of Aretuza's towers. No one stopped him, no king's guard or ranger would dare pull over a Witcher. He'd had the same vehicle since the seventies, they all knew it was him. Add in the gear in the back, two sword hilts more than visible and the Scout might as well have WITCHER stamped across the back bumper.

A week's drive took three days and Geralt was on the other side of the Continent before the taste of Jaskier's lips faded from his memory. Fuck, he was in deep. He looked down at his phone and smiled at the picture Jaskier sent. He was leaning on the counter at the diner, chin resting on his palm, eyes sparkling. Geralt made sure that was the photo he had queued up before getting out of the Scout, and not the _other_ photo Jaskier sent.

It wasn't indecent, or even raunchy, just Jaskier shirtless on his bed, phone braced on his flat stomach as sleepy eyes smiled into the camera lens. Geralt had many fond memories of Jaskier in a similar position on their bed in Kaer Morhen, only instead of a cell phone on his stomach, it was Geralt's head pillowed in the soft chub of winter. The accompanying message made Geralt's heart melt.

 _Sorry_ , Jaskier texted the next morning. _I was a little drunk, feel free to delete_

Geralt replied, _**wouldn't dream of it**_

Geralt's answer earned him a string of smiley faces, only half of which he recognized. He gave Jaskier his number and it took him all of two days to send a sexy photo. That definitely reminded him of the Jaskier of old, a man who followed Geralt for days before he stopped trying to scare him away, and crawled into Geralt's bed after less than a fortnight.

Shaking himself back to focus, Geralt got out of the Scout and headed into Aretuza. The ancient and cavernous halls were much emptier these days, only turning out ten or so mages a decade. Magic was difficult to detect with all the electricity in the air, clogging up the same wavelengths. Geralt remembered the days when elves and mages argued over who was polluting Chaos more with excess energy, then along came electricity to block them all. The biggest change to Aretuza over the centuries was a large spire at the top, big enough to focus magic through the cloud of electricity in the air now-a-days.

Yennefer was the oldest mage on the Continent and by all rights, she should be head mistress. But everyone knew she didn't have the temperament and Aretuza left her alone, gave her rooms to stay in when she needed them and kept the fuck out of her way. They stayed out of Geralt's way too. As one of the few ancient faces still walking the world, they all recognized him and gave him a wide berth. He only came to Aretuza to see Yennefer once a year, a second trip was... cause for concern.

He ignored the students and teachers who scattered the second they saw him and turned toward Yen's private staircase, the one that only appeared if she wanted you to see it. It was there like usual, spiraling up through the wall, black stone steps far too polished, it felt like he was stepping on glass. Leave it to Yennefer to make everything fit her style choices.

The door at the top opened at his touch and he walked into the sitting room. Black and white velvet draped everywhere, a few new accents here and there, but it was mostly the same. A copy of Ciri's portrait hung on the wall while the original was in the climate controlled storage at the back of her chambers. Aretuza despised electricity, but that didn't stop Yen from taking the modern world's best ideas and powering them with magic instead.

The bedroom door stood open and after a moment, Yen swept through it. Her long black robe looked very similar to one she might have worn five hundred years ago, delicate lace collar and silk for miles, but it was made by a machine, not magic or a weaver's hands. Even Yennefer succumbed to the convenience of the modern world if it meant she could wrap herself in silk every waking moment.

She frowned at him. “What are you doing here? You just came to see me.” Yes, their yearly tradition when Geralt came for the night and they sat in silence together, sipping wine, gazing at Ciri's portrait. Sometimes, Geralt was weak and let Yen take him to bed. Other years he was stronger. They hadn't loved each other for centuries but one was never quite free from the woman who shared one's child. Their relationship was one of understanding now, as some of the oldest beings on the Continent, the list of people who felt the crush of time like they did was short.

“I need to know about reincarnation,” Geralt said, getting right down to business.

A delicate eyebrow shot up to Yennefer's hairline and she swept over to a plush chaise lounge. “Very rare, possibly nonexistent.” She waved a hand, urging him to go on.

“I thought so too. Until.”

Geralt didn't continue and Yennefer's eyebrow climbed higher, lips quirking into a smile. “This has to be about the bard. No one else leaves you this tongue tied. Did you find one of his little bastard seeds?”

“You knew?”

“I assumed,” Yen said. “He wasn't exactly discrete with it. By my count, at least half the royal houses in the North had a blue-eyed cuckoo from him. I take it you found a descendant with a striking similarity? It's all genetic resonance, Geralt. I'm not interested in killing your dreams anymore, but reincarnation is so unlikely. I doubt you or I would merit enough cosmic import for reincarnation.”

No, they just merited enough cosmic import for near immortality. “That's what I thought at first.” Geralt fished the phone out of his pocket. Technology didn't work in Aretuza, but he didn't need to make a call, he just needed to show Yen the photo. “I showed Eskel, and Lambert. Lambert thinks it can't be a mere genetic reflection, and I'm starting to agree with him.” He opened up the picture and showed it to Yen.

She didn't react, at first. Her perfect lips stayed in the same perfect bored downward curve, beautiful eyes low and unimpressed. It was her heart that gave her away. The second she set her eyes on the photo of Jaskier in Geralt's hands, her heart sped up. Not the cadence of love or anxiety, but a reaction to the unknown. Yennefer of Vengerberg, who had seen so much in her long life, looked upon the face of a dead man on a mobile phone and did not know what to make of the sight in front of her.

“His name,” Geralt whispered, “is Jaskier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted the memories to overwhelm Jaskier a little, which is why I bundled them all together. Hope this came through the way I intended.
> 
> With regard to Aretuza: it was "destroyed" by Radovid, but you know, it's a good setting. So in the context of this fic "destroyed" means "kind of roughed up, but they fixed it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm a day out from Posada. I don't like how I left it with him.”
> 
> “Lambert. No. Wait for me.”
> 
> “See you there, Wolf.” The call disconnected and Geralt growled, fighting the urge to chuck his phone into the windshield. He sped up again. At his current speed of far too fast he was still more than a day out of Upper Posada. Fucking Lambert, he was too emotional to go in alone, probably too emotional to go in at all. Lambert had been adrift for so very long and Geralt wanted nothing more than for him to find happiness again, true happiness. Throwing himself in this new Jaskier's face with a flurry of information and seven centuries of longing was not the way to go about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where we are now: Jaskier's memories have started coming back in little drips, he has part of the picture, but guess who's too impatient to wait? That's right, my favorite feral wolf. As predicted, Lambert has zero chill. Let's watch.
> 
> This fic has also grown by one chapter. I had a lot happening in this chapter and before I split it into a series, I had to kind of condense some thoughts. But now I can expand again, yay!
> 
> This is also the beginning of "Robin used to work in a museum pre-covid, and will tell you lots of very specific information about how to keep historical objects preserved." No one else cares, but trust me, there will be more How To Care For Your Priceless History in this fic.
> 
> Please enjoy. If you spot a typo, include it with your comment and it'll be taken care of. Thank you for joining me on this journey to the modern Continent and I hope everyone likes where we're going here :)

“What did your witch say?”

Geralt expected to get Lambert's voice mail for the hundredth time, so he'd take the growling answer over talking to a machine. “Does this mean you're talking to me again?”

“Undetermined. What did your fucking witch say?”

Lambert wasn't going to like the answer. _He_ didn't like Yen's answer but he saw the reasons behind it. “She needs to see him, feel his energy to confirm.”

“Of fucking course she does.”

“I'm on my way back to Upper Posada. Still have to think up a good reason for him to tell his family why he's taking off with a Witcher.” If he decided to come. Flirty text messages did not mean he was ready to run away with basically a stranger... then again, if he was the same Jaskier, maybe.

Lambert groaned. “We just got rid of our reputation as kidnappers like ninety years ago, now you have to bring it back?”

“He's an adult, he can leave home if he wants.” Leaving with his family's blessing made everything so much easier though.

“Right, I'll see you there.”

A shiver ran down Geralt's spine and he sped up. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm a day out from Posada. I don't like how I left it with him.”

“Lambert. No. Wait for me.”

“See you there, Wolf.” The call disconnected and Geralt growled, fighting the urge to chuck his phone into the windshield. The Scout could take such force, the phone could not.

He sped up again. At his current speed of _far too fast_ he was still more than a day out of Upper Posada. Fucking Lambert, he was too emotional to go in alone, probably too emotional to go in at all. While “emotional” was the last descriptor most would apply to a Witcher, Geralt knew his brothers better than that. Lambert was always... adrift. He didn't want this life eight hundred years ago, and he wanted it even less now. Despite their winters together and their closeness, Lambert wasn't as connected to them as they were to each other, or connected to the rest of life. Eskel had Geralt to keep him steady, one extra point of light grounding him; Geralt in turn had Eskel, even his bond with Yennefer, other immortals to hold him down, keep him steady. After Aiden died, Lambert had Jaskier. And after Jaskier died...

Lambert had been adrift for so very long and Geralt wanted nothing more than for him to find happiness again, true happiness. Throwing himself in this new Jaskier's face with a flurry of information and seven centuries of longing was not the way to go about it.

* * *

Jaskier bused tables for something to do. The last customers departed an hour ago—a young couple on a hiking trip through the nature preserve—and it had been dead ever since. He was so close to convincing Bill to let him play some music, he just needed a few more minutes of silence before the grumpy fry cook gave in and listened to Jaskier pluck away at his lute. There was a melody in his head that he couldn't shake, just a few more tries and he'd figure it out, turn it into a song.

The screech of tires outside made him jump. The glare of the lights on the inside of the windows and the darkness outside, Jaskier couldn't see everything, but a half familiar car pulled up in front of the diner, an old El Camino, dirt and mud spattered around the wheel wells. As soon as Jaskier saw the two sword hilts in the back, the bell over the door jingled, door slamming into the wall so hard it almost cracked the glass.

He turned again to find intense gold eyes on him, Lambert stomping his way, a clutch of old journals under his arm. Despite the manic energy crackling along his shoulders, he set the journals down gently on the table closest to Jaskier and backed away. His hands balled into fists, Lambert's entire body shook, but his eyes were soft as he looked at Jaskier.

A trembling hand pointed to the journals. “Those are yo—Jaskier's. The first Jaskier. I thought it might... fill in some blanks.”

Jaskier looked at the journals. They were similar to the ones he got from his gran, but in much better condition. Clearly, they were in a climate controlled storage, carefully preserved. Jaskier itched to touch them but knew the oils on his hands would damage the old paper. He took a breath and tore his gaze away from the journals, looking up at Lambert. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Geralt mentioned there were other journals. I have a few, passed down through the family. Geralt also mentioned Jaskier was a dear friend, so I thought one of you might have the rest.”

“You need to see them,” Lambert said. “I'll wait.”

With Lambert's heavy gaze on him, Jaskier felt his heart flutter. “I have to—I have to clean my hands. Can't touch them with diner grease everywhere.” He held up a hand, fingers open, palm towards Lambert. “Please, don't leave. I'll be right back.” Lambert nodded and slid into a booth a few tables away. He didn't want to crowd Jaskier, he couldn't let his emotions take over right now.

In the kitchen, he heard soft voices, Jaskier trying not to let him overhear. But oh, a Witcher's hearing was far too good. “No Bill, I don't need you to kick him out. Like you could. Take a break.”

“You think I'm leaving you alone with a Witcher again? I should tell your mother.”

“Then go tell her, I don't care. They've all been more than kind, not to mention left giant tips for me and you.”

The back door opened and slammed closed and Lambert heard a sink running. Jaskier came back into the front of the diner, his smile a little dim at the corners. “Sorry about that. I guess you heard it.”

“It's alright. A lot of humans still don't trust us. I'm used to it.”

Jaskier slid into the booth and looked down at the journals, his clean hands finally resting on the leather cover. “Do you want to sit with me?”

Lambert shifted his his seat. One full booth separated them, but Jaskier was careful to sit on the side facing Lambert. “I want you to read what Jaskier had to say. About us. If you decide you like it, then you can move closer. Only if you want.”

Jaskier smiled. “Making me come to you? Lazy.” Lambert hid his smile in his shoulder, then watched Jaskier's face as he opened the first journal.

The excitement that sparkled in his eyes was more beautiful than the dawn. Pretty pink lips parted, hands trembling Jaskier read his long dead ancestor's words. “These are beautiful, the paper alone is in such amazing condition. I can read the ink! The ones I have,” he shook his head, “too many years in an attic, it's all crinkling and faded. I can't believe...” he trailed off. Lambert wasn't interested in his thoughts about manuscript preservation. He took one last steadying breath before reading.

This journal wasn't filled with songs. Some lyrics were squished into the margins, but there was much more prose here than the ones he got from gran. Sweeping tales of watching Geralt take down a wyvern and earn a wicked slash across his heart, the first Jaskier panicking and shaking as he bandaged his Witcher up. _No matter how many times I see their blood, I will never become accustomed to it. I live in hope for the day they bleed no more_. _But Witchers never retire, or so they tell me._

Jaskier read a few more passages, then moved to the next journal in the stack. _I took a season away from Geralt_ , it began, _though I meant to journey on my own like I used to in my youth, I soon ran into Eskel. Our shared love of poetry shall keep me in good spirits, I think, not to mention our shared enjoyment of making love under the stars._

Lambert didn't bring three random journals, he meant Jaskier to read these exact words. Pulling the next one off the stack, Jaskier had to steady himself as he opened it, fingers shaking too much, he didn't want to damage the old pages. The kitchen door banged open and a flurry of movement caught the corner of his eye. “Jaskier!” his mother cried. “What is going—” Jaskier held up a hand to silence her and read the words on the pages in front of him through his tears.

_I bought Lambert a new bracelet. I hope he lets me put it on him. I fear he knows how weak he makes me, and will one day use it to his advantage. After Aiden's death some seasons ago, there is still an empty sadness in him, and I endeavor to fill it whenever the chance presents itself. Heading to the keep with Geralt tomorrow, he says he wants to watch me give Lambert his gift, as if we were a tawdry floor show... I shall ask Lambert if that's what he wishes us to be._

Jaskier slowly closed the journal, stacking all three together again and setting them safely in the center of the table. His fingers rubbed over the black leather band on his left wrist. The Lambert in his dreams had a leather bracelet on his right...

The Lambert sitting in front of him had a bracelet on his right wrist as well, thick and black, almost identical to Jaskier's. It was a little worn at the edges, not new. He had it before Geralt took them all to meet Jaskier. How was it possible he had the same accessory as a Witcher he'd only met a few weeks ago? Jaskier bought the leather cuff a few years back, he saw it in a shop and just liked it. It came in a set of two but he didn't have anyone to give the other. Or did he?

“Were we—” his voice caught and he swallowed, trying again. “Were you in love... with him?”

Lambert nodded and Jaskier's heart beat faster. “We all were, in our own ways. You were—he was—” Lambert sighed, he so wanted to press the heels of his hands into his eyes and block out the world for a moment, but he'd rather put out both eyes than stop looking at Jaskier right now. “He was very special. To all of us.”

Silence radiated through the air. Jaskier felt Bill and his mother's eyes on him, but he only cared for Lambert's gaze. Special, he was _special_ to the Witchers, not just a “very dear friend” like Geralt said, but a companion, a lover. To be loved by such beautiful demi gods as these Witchers... the first Jaskier must have been a unique man indeed.

The bell at the door broke the silence and they all turned. Chest heaving, shaking a little, Geralt glared down at Lambert. “What have you told him?”

The softness in Lambert's gaze disappeared, lip curling in a growl. “The truth. The shit you were too scared to tell him.”

What little coloring Geralt had drained from his face. His eyes slid from Lambert to Jaskier, then to the two humans in the room. The woman—fuck, Jaskier's mother. He didn't quite know how to tell her he wanted to take her youngest on a “road trip” to figure out his place in their fucking Destiny, and Lambert had to bungle in to make it that much harder. “Mrs. uh...”

“de Stael,” she said. “Lydia de Stael.”

“de Stael?” Geralt repeated. Well, that confirmed which royal nest Jaskier left his eggs in... He shook himself and got back on track. “Mrs. de Stael, I apologize for my brother. I'd like to speak to Jaskier, but we need a moment.” He grabbed Lambert around the arm, wrenching him out of the booth and out the door.

“We're not leaving!” Lambert called to Jaskier before Geralt pushed him outside.

He didn't let go of Lambert, dragging him towards the darkened side of the parking lot so the humans didn't see them trading blows... he hoped it didn't come to that. “What the fuck are you doing?” Geralt hissed. “I tell you I'm on my way back and you try to get to him first? This isn't a contest, Lambert, we're all trying to get the same answers!”

“But you're not giving him all the information,” Lambert snarled back. “Dear friend? You told him Jaskier was a dear friend? Tell me, Geralt, how many _dear friends_ did you spend entire winters fucking? He was so much more than that and this kid has a right to know!”

“I don't want to scare him off!” Geralt got in close, too close for a punch to do any damage, but close enough for Lambert to take a bite out of him. It was a risk worth taking. “You think he's the same man, I'm not sure yet, Yen's the only one with enough power to figure it out. We need to take it slow or we'll scare him off!”

Lambert jabbed a finger back towards the diner. “Scare him away? That man? Even if it's not... _him_ ,” his voice went soft for a moment before the fury returned. “Even if that's just a reflection of a shadow of Jaskier, he's still the only human I've ever met who walks _towards_ a Witcher with a smile on his face! He can handle it!”

“But maybe we can't?” Geralt wasn't shouting anymore. He leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, Lambert startled a little before relaxing into Geralt, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and holding them together. “Whenever I think we're settled, that the world can't surprise us anymore, shit falls down around us. Jaskier's death, Ciri's, Kaer Morhen finally falling to ruin... we've lost so much of ourselves, and yet we persist. I thought that meant we were strong, but what if we just haven't had the worst of it yet? I don't want us to see love from the past and run towards it blindly, not until we know everything. I'm trying to keep us safe.”

All the fight bled out of Lambert's body and his head dropped to Geralt's shoulder. He let the White Wolf pull him in and hold him for a moment as he gathered himself again. “What do you want me to do?” he whispered.

“I want you to call Eskel. Meet him at Corvo Bianco and stay put. He'll repair whatever spells you broke to get those journals and take down the rest.”

Lambert huffed. “You're the one who insists on sealing the place up outside of winter.”

“I'll take Jaskier to Yennefer, see what she can make of him,” Geralt continued. “No matter what we find out, I'll see if he wants to come to Corvo Bianco with me... I think it's time for us to retire for a while.”

In the old days, Witchers never retired. Now, they retired whenever they pleased, spending a few seasons or a few years off The Path, resting their minds and their swords from the ache of eternity. No matter how many times Geralt declared “This one's for good! I won't go back!” he always did. None of them could resist the call of The Path for long, not even Lambert—who hated it with every fiber of his being—sooner or later, he'd long to stick his sword deep into the belly of a wyvern or kill a flock of harpies, laughing at their screeches. With Jaskier back in their lives (maybe, he hoped) now seemed like a good enough time to take a break.

Lambert nodded and squeezed Geralt one more time before pulling away. They walked across the parking lot. Through the diner window, Jaskier stood by the door, the journals clutched to his chest as his mother shouted at him. Tears sparkled in his eyes but his jaw was set. “I never meant to cause him trouble,” Geralt whispered.

“That's the one thing you never understood, pretty boy: we're always trouble. I've embraced that reality.”

Geralt nodded and they both walked back into the diner. The shouted conversation slammed to a sudden stop. For her credit, Jaskier's mother had tears in her eyes as well. Jaskier never said much about his family, but Geralt gathered there was no love lost. At least this time around, they seemed to care. “What do you want with my son?” she whispered.

“To talk,” Geralt said. “You named him after an ancestor—Jaskier. We knew the man, we'd like to get to know his namesake.”

“And I want to go with them,” Jaskier said. While most thought it too dangerous to take their eye off a Witcher, Lydia de Stael only had eyes for her son. He stepped in close and let her thread her fingers through his hair, holding him like any mother would hold her baby. “Please, mum, ever since gran gave me the first Jaskier's journals, I've wanted to meet a Witcher. And here they are. Don't ask me to step away from a dream when I'm so close to touching it.”

She took a shuddering breath and nodded, hugging Jaskier close. “You'll be careful?”

“Yes.”

“And you, Witchers, you'll keep him safe?”

“We will,” Geralt and Lambert said. Their lives were dangerous and the first Jaskier got into far too many scrapes, but this time around, they wouldn't let any beast harm a single hair on that head.

A few more tears were shed, but Jaskier went back to the house to pack a bag, his mother holding his hand. Geralt and Lambert settled in one of the booths to wait... after a few minutes, the cook, Bill, came out of the kitchen with two country fried steaks. “You'll need your strength,” he grumbled. “Jaskier's my cousin. Been going on about Witchers since he was twelve. Keep him safe.” Without another word, Bill went back into the kitchen, the radio got louder, drowning out any other sounds they might hear.

Jaskier and his mother came in through the back, small travel duffle clutched in his hands and a fucking lute case on his back. “You play the lute?” Lambert asked.

“Yes.”

“Of course you do.” Lambert shook his head and followed Geralt out into the parking lot, giving Jaskier's mother another moment to say her goodbyes.

Jaskier trooped out a few minutes later, tears mostly dry, his smile incandescent. “So! Where are we going?”

“Aretuza first,” Geralt said. “I have a... friend.” Lambert rolled his eyes at _that_ description. “She can answer some questions. Then after...” He trailed off and looked down at his feet. Fuck, the idea of traveling with Jaskier again, the bard annoying him with his lute, spouting dirty lyrics at him, Geralt never thought—and now he had it. So how did he sleep next to this man and not touch him? He didn't want to scare him away, not when they were finally together again. “Afterwards, if you'd like, we're all headed to our keep. Corvo Bianco. It's where we winter.” It was nearing the end of summer, almost fall, and they had a solid three months of hunting left, but... “I think we need an early rest this year.”

“That sounds amazing.” Jaskier followed them over to the Scout and spent a minute gushing about Geralt's vehicle—the color, the retro look, he loved it all. Then they went through the same with Lambert's El Camino.

Jaskier loaded his bag into the back of the Scout, setting his lute gently in its own seat. Before he climbed in, Lambert swept in close, close enough to smell but not touch. “Jaskier,” he said. “Before you go, I need—can I tell you something?”

“Lambert...” Geralt cautioned.

Lambert ignored him. He needed to get this off his chest. There was a not insignificant risk that Yen would scare Jaskier off. She nearly killed the first one, after all (several times, if Lambert remembered correctly) and Jaskier might decide not to follow Geralt to Corvo Bianco. This might be his last chance and Lambert wasn't going to fucking waste it.

Jaskier tried not to lean into Lambert, he was so close and so warm, a force inside him wanted to touch them both. “What is it?”

Lambert couldn't take it anymore. He leaned forward, capturing Jaskier's lips. He gave a soft sigh of surprise and Lambert ran his tongue over Jaskier's bottom lip, savoring the kiss he'd waited seven hundred years for. It had been oh so long, but Lambert couldn't shake the feeling that these were the same lips...

After a moment relearning Jaskier's kiss, he stepped back, but stayed close enough to feel his breath. “There was... I had a friend. Aiden. He was special to me like you... like Jaskier. After he died, Jaskier made me feel less monstrous again. All my life, only Jaskier and Aiden made me feel human. I thought that was gone forever. Even if I never see you again, I want to thank you.” He placed one last small kiss at the corner of Jaskier's mouth and stepped back, hands falling limply at his sides. “Stay safe,” he grunted to Geralt and climbed into his El Camino, driving off.

A little dizzy from the kiss—and the tears, just the whole night—Jaskier collected himself, climbed into the Scout and they were off. Geralt left Jaskier alone with his thoughts for a while.

Jaskier watched the neon of his family diner fade into the darkness of the night, trees of the surrounding forest lining the road cut through the mountainous terrain. He blinked, and the town was gone, swallowed by the mountain passes. Jaskier breathed deep and leaned back onto the bench seat of Geralt's vehicle. This was it, he was with a Witcher, on his way to see a sorceress of Aretuza. The exciting life he knew he was destined for was finally beginning after long years of dreaming of adventure.

Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt watched Jaskier melt back into the seat. “You should call your mother in the morning, check in, let her know you're safe. And you should sleep now. Long drive ahead of us.”

“Mmm, yes, good idea. I'll give her a call.” Jaskier patted down his pocket to make sure he remembered his phone. In his flurry to pack, it was very likely he didn't have enough socks and underwear for however long they were on this trip... Oh well, he'd manage. They went camping a lot in the nature preserve when he was younger and he was more than accustomed to washing clothing in a river.

“And you should sleep. I'll try to find an inn—” Geralt bit his tongue. “A _motel_. I'll find a motel.” Take the Witcher out of the ancient days, can't take the ancient days out of the Witcher.

“There's nothing around for a while,” Jaskier said. “It's why we can keep a B&B in the middle of nowhere—we are the only place for about two hundred miles. It's no trouble, I can manage however you manage.”

After a beat, Geralt mumbled, “I sleep in the Scout.”

“I call front seat.” Geralt took his eyes away from the road (it was deserted, also it was difficult for a car to sneak up on a Witcher) to argue, but the soft smile across Jaskier's lips stopped the words on his tongue. _Jaskier_ looked back at him, the same smile, the same mad sparkle in his eyes. If this wasn't reincarnation, then it was a strong fucking familial resonance. If Geralt closed his eyes and let Jaskier's voice and smell pull him in, he'd think he were back in a tavern so many years ago.

He turned his attention back to the road. “That's fine. I don't fit in the front seat. Back folds down.” They settled into silence again, Jaskier peering out the window, watching the forest pass by. Even in the darkness, the trees were beautiful and mysterious, much like the Witcher next to him. Jaskier couldn't wait to learn more of his new travel companion, though he suspected he already knew quite a bit. He didn't know _how_ , some deep feeling, like the memory of a story he heard as a child, there, but dim.

A few more silent minutes passed before Geralt broke it again. “This is a lot. After we see Yennefer, I'm going back to our keep, uh, our winter home. You don't have to come. If you don't want. I will take you wherever you want.” Because he didn't want to be too much for Jaskier, they just got him back and the last thing Geralt wanted to do was scare him the fuck away. Sure, the first Jaskier wasn't easy to scare off (no matter how many times Geralt tried) but he wouldn't repeat his mistakes this time, not when the world gave him such a gift.

“Already trying to get rid of me?” Jaskier leaned his head back on the top of the seat, staring at Geralt like he was the fucking moon. The first Jaskier had that look too, almost a hundred years of life and he never lost it, on his death bed he still looked at Geralt like he was sent from the heavens. “I'll stay as long as you want me. You won't scare me away.” He looked out the window again, small smirk still in place. “Besides, you're the one who kissed me.”

Geralt snorted. “You're the one who sent me a shirtless picture.”

“I told you, I was drunk.”

Jaskier did fall asleep, head bent back awkwardly on the padded leather. Geralt had replaced or restored every part of the Scout at least once, and he made sure the seats were comfortable, mostly for himself, but now he was glad Jaskier also found comfort here. This vehicle was more or less his home most of the year, he wanted Jaskier to be comfortable in his home, both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably me projecting onto Jaskier, but if I found a bunch of ancient manuscripts in my grandmother's attic (she had old pictures, which we did our best to preserve) you bet I would figure out all the ways to conserve those manuscripts no matter how damaged they already were. Along with his new Witcher obsession, I imagine little Jaskier going to the public library, asking for information on how to best store old paper so they don't get any more damage. Learning how you have to keep your hands clean so the oils don't cause more damage, learning all the things to keep his new favorite family keepsakes safe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When we get to the station, you can stay with the rangers. This contract shouldn't take long," Geralt said.
> 
> Fully awake and now bouncing in his seat, Jaskier shook his head. “No way I'm staying behind! I want to see you in action.” Geralt opened his mouth to argue before thinking better of it. Telling the first one to stay behind didn't work, why should this one be any different?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm writing this from a very American POV. I'm not sure who has been to a national park but they are HUGE, not as big as Dol Blathanna looks on the Witcher Continent map, but still, they're big. There are towns close by for tourists and you can get a camping permit to stay in the park itself. This is kind of where I'm going with the Dol Blathanna nature preserve (nature preserves are a different thing, I'm combining them with national parks because I'm lazy) and Upper Posada is one of those small towns that feeds campers and hikers in the park.
> 
> Since this chapter was split off from chapter 5, it is a little shorter, so sorry if it's not as meaty as the others. But Jaskier gets to see Geralt in action, that was worth keeping :)
> 
> Please enjoy, and if anyone spots a typo, let me know and I'll take care of it.

Shortly after sunrise, Jaskier started to stir. Geralt had an eye out for a diner or even a chain restaurant, somewhere to get breakfast. They were almost out of the Dol Blathanna nature preserve and civilization shouldn't be far off.

The flash of a park ranger vehicle caught Geralt's eye. “Fuck,” he groaned and pulled over anyway. “They're not trying to stop us,” he said before Jaskier asked. “Probably has a contract for me. The nature preserve is lousy with creatures.” Though considering Geralt spent the better part of the last month and a half in this area, he thought he cleared out anything big enough to be a problem for the rangers...

He rolled his window down and the ranger stopped, his eyes sliding to Jaskier. “Is it an emergency?” Geralt asked, shocking the man back to attention. “We're on an errand for Aretuza.”

The ranger looked at Jaskier and nodded. No longer a Witcher with a kidnapped young man, now a Witcher with a strangely youthful sorcerer, nothing strange about that... “I hate to hold you up, we could really use your services though.”

Grumbling a little, Geralt resigned himself. “What's the contract?”

“Hunters keep coming back, say some _thing_ is stealing their game. Hunting parties go to sleep and wake in the morning to find their camps ransacked, all their meat and trophies gone. No injuries yet, but you never know when it might want fresher meat.”

Dol Blathanna was a nature preserve, supposed to be no hunting allowed. But when times were tough, towns were known to charge an arm and a leg for hunting permits to make up for empty coffers. As long as people paid, mayors kept doing it. Geralt hated it, just another broken promise between the humans of the world and the remaining elves. But it wasn't his place to mediate. It took a few centuries, but Geralt finally learned to stay out of politics.

“I need payment up front,” he said. “I won't come back to quibble with the head ranger, I do the job and we have to go, Aretuza doesn't like waiting.” Yennefer didn't like waiting, but the specter of all mages instead of just one was a better motivator for humans.

The ranger nodded. “Follow me to the station and we'll work it out.” He went back to his truck and turned onto a small access road into the preserve. Geralt followed.

“When we get to the station, you can stay with the rangers. This contract shouldn't take long.”

Fully awake and now bouncing in his seat, Jaskier shook his head. “No way I'm staying behind! I want to see you in action.” Geralt opened his mouth to argue before thinking better of it. Telling the first one to stay behind didn't work, why should this one be any different?

Geralt didn't need much gear with him on a contract like this, but he took a moment to rummage around for a canteen and thrust it into Jaskier's hands. They walked into the station and Geralt quickly shifted into “professional” mode. The three rangers milling around stopped as soon as he walked in, not stepping back like the days of old... but not entirely comfortable with his presence. Good. The more they wanted him out, the quicker negotiations went.

He pointed at Jaskier, glaring at one of the rangers. “He needs breakfast. Where can he fill his water?”

“Uh, over here.” A man who looked no older than Jaskier waved him over to a small table with a box of doughnuts and coffee. Not the most nutritious breakfast, but any food was good. The last thing Geralt needed was Jaskier passing out in the middle of the woods.

Once Jaskier had food in his hand, chattering happily with the young ranger filling his canteen, Geralt shifted his attention to the head ranger, the man waiting impatiently at the edge of a large desk. “Payment up front,” Geralt said, voice flat, unemotional. It's what people still expected, and he so hated to disappoint.

The man bristled a little, crossing his arms and glaring. “Never heard of a Witcher who takes payment first. Doesn't your guild pride itself on getting the job done before money changes hands?”

“I'm in a hurry,” Geralt growled. “I didn't have to stop. What do I care for game going missing? Sounds more like theft than a beast. Theft is usually a human crime. You want my help? You pay me now, or we're leaving.”

Not wanting to get in the way, Jaskier hung back, munching on another doughnut, eyes wide. He never thought he'd get to see Geralt in action like this. Fighting and slaying a beast was one thing, but his negotiating! He had such a presence about him, enough to make a normal man rethink his life choices and more than enough to make Jaskier want to melt into his strong arms. Though he was excited to see Aretuza, he wouldn't miss this for the world.

Golden eyes did not waver as Geralt stared the ranger down and heat crawled up Jaskier's neck. How many times had those same eyes been on him for a very different reason? Not just in the diner, but at an inn, crowded together on a shitty bed, their breath heavy with ale and whatever meager food that tavern was serving that night... Jaskier blinked. He didn't remember that, they hadn't found an inn yet, he slept in the Scout instead. And yet... he _did_ remember. He closed his eyes and saw one of a hundred nights, Geralt stripped down to his smalls, Jaskier naked on the bed, those beautiful eyes drinking him in...

“Fine, done.”

Jaskier's eyes flew open just in time to see the head ranger handing over an envelope. Oh, he missed the rest of the stare down, so lost in a memory he wasn't sure was real or imagined. After reading passages of the journals Lambert brought, he knew what they all got up to in the old days, but how much was a real memory and how much was Jaskier's overactive imagination?

Geralt took another moment to negotiate a drop as proof—the head of whatever he found, usually—then headed towards the door. Jaskier scurried to keep up. “How much?” he asked as the door swung shut behind them. How much for an investigation job? A job that was surely far below a Witcher's skill.

He shrugged. “Three hundred crowns. Not much, but it'll keep us in gas and food until we hit a town with a bank. I can get more if we need.” Not like he needed the money these days anyway. They turned towards the Scout and Geralt grabbed a few more provisions—while he didn't expect to need his swords, he strapped them on anyway—and filled a small satchel with rations and Jaskier's canteen. _Just in case_.

He tried not to smirk at the way Jaskier practically vibrated out of his skin at the sight of his swords. “I can't believe this,” Jaskier jabbered. “The journals I have are composition books mostly, not detailed recountings, but the first Jaskier, he has all sorts of ballads about your contracts. And now I get to see one!”

“Mmm.” Geralt gave himself one small moment to preen and enjoy Jaskier's attention. He never thought he'd miss the colorful human bouncing around him like Geralt was the most talented, skilled man on all the Continent, and yet, the smell of happiness seeding off Jaskier was so lovely, part of him wanted to stop and bask in it for hours... But he had a job to do. “Be careful,” he said, back to business. “Try to step where I step.”

“Got it.” At least this Jaskier was good at following instructions. He stayed close to Geralt, but not close enough to get in the way. He stopped when Geralt signaled him to stop and picked up nonverbal directions quickly. In the back of Geralt's mind... he wondered. It took the first Jaskier a full season to understand what Geralt wanted when he held up a hand for silence, but this one got it right away. Did he remember? No, no, he couldn't let himself get distracted by what ifs, not until Yen confirmed his suspicions. He had a job to do now and the sooner he found whatever was robbing hunters, the sooner they could get out of here.

He silently pointed out the visible trails he was tracking, broken branches and heavy boot prints in mud from hunters, but also softer disturbances—grass slightly trampled here and there—too big for an animal but definitely not human. Jaskier couldn't smell all that Geralt did, but showing him what to look for was easy. After half an hour tracking, Jaskier called his attention to another set of light tracks and they turned that way.

The farther they walked into the area where hunters were losing their game, the more unease spread in Geralt's stomach. There were too many birds around, and other small forest animals. Any monster too large for the rangers to deal with would've scared such smaller creatures off. And probably killed the hunting parties instead of just taking their meat, now that Geralt thought of it. He was in such a hurry, he didn't stop to think how fishy this all sounded...

The thwap of a sling shot pelted through the trees and Geralt turned to watch Jaskier fall, blood coming from a cut on his head. “Jaskier!” he growled. Before he took a step towards the human, another shot rang out, striking Geralt at the back of the skull. All went dark.

* * *

Geralt woke with a dull throbbing pain at the back of his neck. He pulled at his hands and found them bound, heat of another body right behind him. “Jaskier...” Panic surged through him, the calm of the job disappearing. “Jaskier! Are you awake? Speak to me!”

“I'm awake,” Jaskier said. “I'm fine, my head hurts... are you alright?” He turned from side to side, trying to catch sight of Geralt, but they were too tightly bound and all he saw was a flash of white hair out of the corner of his eye. “Did they hurt you?”

“I'll live.” Geralt tugged at the ropes again and felt a little give. He didn't want to fight his way out of whatever situation they ended up in, not with Jaskier so near, he couldn't risk him. “Have they shown themselves yet? Do you know who has us?”

“You are in the company of Lasscien aén Fidháil, and you will explain your presence, Witcher.” An elf appeared from a group of trees, two others behind her. “I can't imagine the humans sent you in search of a thief. Surely, there is a better use of a Witcher's time?”

“So you admit the theft?” The blonde hair, her eyes, the angle of her nose, the sharper than normal points on her ears... she looked familiar. “aén Fidháil?” Geralt repeated. “You're Filavandrel's kin?”

Her brow tightened for a moment before her smooth mask of anger slid into place. “What of it?”

Jaskier's double in Upper Posada... the first time they travel together, they're set upon by Filavandrel's kin. If Destiny were any louder, she'd be screaming. Geralt shook his head, clutching Jaskier's hand where they were bound together, _stay calm_. Sweaty fingers squeezed back, _I trust you_.

“Centuries years ago, I met Filavandrel and convinced him to take his people away from the humans. I advise you to do the same, whatever your quarrel is.”

Lasscien snarled and jumped into Geralt's face. “Oh yes, I remember the stories of you, _Witcher_ , how you wanted him to live with the humans. We have tried. They made a deal with us—they would not hunt our animals, they said they preserved the land for us. We are simply exercising our rights and confiscating illegal game from poachers. Hardly a job for a Witcher.”

“I agree. Let us go and we will trouble you no more.”

“Until they send more after us?” she spat. “I don't think so.” She stepped back and looked around the trees, Geralt didn't doubt she had more soldiers hidden away to disguise their true numbers. “We confiscate from poachers, and they send a Witcher. One over reaction deserves another, I say. Before dawn, we attack the ranger station, show them their place in _our_ forest.” Lasscien glared down at Geralt. “Leave the Witcher, kill the human.”

“No!” Geralt thrashed against their bonds. Jaskier started to shake against his back. If Geralt got free, he could defend them, be he wasn't going to chance Jaskier's life. “Filavandrel spared him once! This is the same man we met the Elf King with—reincarnated. I swear to you. Destiny has a hand on him, she will not be pleased to see him cut down.”

This gave the elves pause, like he knew it would. As close as they were to Chaos, elves were attuned to Destiny as well. They knew not to get in the way of the flow of time, especially when it came to reincarnation, a rare event even to their long lived people. She sneered at Geralt but turned her attention to Jaskier, setting the flat of her blade under his throat, pressing just hard enough. Geralt heard Jaskier's heart speed up.

“Tell me, _reincarnated one_ ,” she growled, voice dripping with doubt, “what do you remember of my kin? Filavandrel gave you something when you last met. What was it?” The only stories of true reincarnation came from elves, they believed its power and would never harm one touched by it. Geralt's lie turned to ash in his mouth. If Jaskier couldn't produce a memory, they were done for.

“Uh,” Jaskier stammered for a moment, trying to breathe through his panic. “Filavandrel, he gave me...” While he knew better than to take his eyes off a blade, Jaskier's eyes fell closed, the face of an elf long dead swimming through the darkness. “He gave me his lute... they smashed mine. His was a beautiful instrument that shone red in the sunlight. I had it for the rest of my life.” He opened his eyes to find Lasscien's sneer gone, her lips parted in shock. “I loved that lute. I used it to sing the praises of the old world—the one humans wanted to destroy. The world the Witchers and I want to preserve.”

Lasscien's sword fell from her hand and she staggered back. A few of her soldiers swarmed in but she held them at bay. “Human reincarnation... I've never heard of it,” she whispered. Long ago, there were stories of elven prophets returned to the world many times over to warn of coming darkness. Geralt had heard such stories and knew the elves saw them as real and true, even though a prophet hadn't come back for centuries, they still believed, and they waited.

“Well,” Jaskier said. “Now you have.” With the sword gone from his throat, Jaskier swallowed heavily. “If the people here won't honor your agreement, you should head to Upper Posada, it's still in the nature preserve, but deeper, you won't have to leave your land. The town is small, less than a five hundred people live there year round, and our mayor has never issued a hunting permit. He keeps our bargain with the elves.” A tingle of bravery coming back, Jaskier continued. “The Dandelion Diner, my family owns it. If you ever go in, tell my mum Jaskier sent you.”

“Ha!” Lasscien let out a mirthless laugh and picked up her sword, sliding it into the scabbard. “You keep interesting company, Witcher, as always.” She nodded towards her soldiers. “Untie them.”

The tension bled out of Geralt chest as soon as his hands were free. He swept in close to Jaskier, patting him down for injuries and noting the bleeding cut at his hairline, before addressing the elves. “Leave a broken bow near the signal station as proof I _dealt_ with you.” He reached into his pocket and gave them the envelope with his pay. “It's not much.”

“No,” Lasscien said. “It really is.” Her eyes flicked from Geralt to Jaskier again and she shook her head. “Human reincarnation,” she mumbled to herself. “Never thought I'd see the day.”

The elves melted into the trees and Geralt listened until they were truly gone. He grabbed for Jaskier again, just to hold his hand, but Jaskier slammed against Geralt's chest, hands balling in the back of his shirt. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed. “Is your life always like this?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Geralt smoothed a hand through Jaskier's hair and breathed his scent in deep. Lavender, and fresh wood, the same as all those years ago...

“I supposed I'll get used to it.” Jaskier stayed in his arms until Geralt started moving them along.

They made it back to the Scout and drove out of the preserve. Geralt drove like he just robbed a bank—watching the rear-view mirror, checking for more rangers trying to flag him down. When they got a few miles away and saw the beginnings of a town over the next hill, Geralt pulled off the road.

Jaskier turned in his seat, searching for whatever Geralt saw, then yelped when a hand grabbed his shirt, pulling him in. Lips he'd only felt once pressed against his, and Jaskier's mouth fell open in shock. This time, Geralt took the invitation and licked across Jaskier's tongue. He was done being gentle, done tiptoeing around Jaskier in case he scared him away. There was a blade at his throat today and fuck if Geralt wasn't going to touch him after that close call. Hands started carding through his hair and Jaskier moaned into the kiss, sliding closer. One more advantage to the Scout: old bench seats, no center console to maneuver around. He wanted Jaskier in his lap and now, Jaskier was in his lap, solid and warm and perfect.

Geralt closed his eyes and let his scent swirl around him, nibbling his lips until they were puffy and red. He smelled the arousal pouring off Jaskier, but neither of them moved to go any father, satisfied with their kiss, a reminder that they were actually here together for the first time in so very long...

Placing one last kiss on the corner of Jaskier's mouth, Geralt pulled back, but didn't move away. He'd let Jaskier sit on him while he drove if he knew they would've get pulled over for it in a second. “No more stops,” he said. “I don't care if we find a dragon, we're going to Aretuza.”

Jaskier nodded. “Got it. Good thing most places have a drive through.” Reluctantly, he slid off Geralt's lap, but stayed close, leaning his head on Geralt's shoulder as they took off down the road. His stomach growled a little—doughnuts were only so filling and the adrenaline of capture exhausted him—but Jaskier wasn't thinking about food. He closed his eyes and drifted off, the gentle rocking of the Scout and Geralt's arm warm under his cheek comforting him more deeply than anything else in the world.

Geralt let Jaskier doze next to him, his own thoughts buzzing. There was no question of it now. Jaskier mentioned dreams before, but recounting his memories of Filavandrel with a blade at his throat... If Jaskier wasn't a true reincarnation, Geralt would eat the Scout whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have great respect for park rangers and those who guard our national parks. They're pretty much the only good thing about America, that we do try to conserve *some* land for its beauty and try our best to preserve it for the future. However, given all the shit between humans and non-humans in the Witcher, the idea that some places might allow hunting inside a nature preserve because of the cash it brought it, was too obvious not to use. Humans have abused the trust of non-humans again and again in this world, I don't see why that would suddenly stop after 700 years.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier slumped back into the seat, one hand clasped to his forehead, mouth hanging open. “I'm in the verdant fucking hills of Toussaint, about to stay in a bucolic mansion with three Witchers. How is this my life?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the chapter everyone has been waiting for, "the reunion." As far as Corvo Bianco goes: I haven't gotten that far in the game but I did watch a few walkthu videos to get a sense of the layout. I replaced the table right as you walked in with a pool table, because having a second dining table in the front hall is silly. So I'm half keeping the house as it is in game, half changing things.
> 
> Not sure if anyone noticed, but I've kind of peppered in the fact that Geralt and the others have money now. While I'm not a fan of the idea of "all immortals have gobs of money" trope, the financially sound person in my head will not let me entertain any reality where, if I was going to live forever, I wouldn't clean up on some long term investments. Just, if you're going to live for a very long time and don't learn how to invest and save money, you're an idiot in my book. Hence: they have money.
> 
> This chapter also has more careful preservation of historical objects, which was a surprising hit with people other than me. Shout out to my nerdy museum readers :)
> 
> Please enjoy, and if anyone spots a typo, let me know and I'll take care of it.

Yen was... helpful. Sort of. She set eyes on Jaskier and her mouth dropped open. “Better than your first meeting,” Geralt mumbled. Though he was already convinced, Geralt was a fan of thoroughness and wanted Yennefer to make her inspection.

When she composed herself, she waved a hand towards a chair. Jaskier sat, Geralt lingering close behind. It's not that he didn't trust Yennefer, after so long, he knew her convoluted motives weren't inherently dangerous, but he never sat easy when she and Jaskier were in proximity. There was too much... tension there, a great deal of it his fault.

She rested her hands on his temples and spent a long moment staring into his eyes before pulling back. “I must say, I like this one better. Quieter.”

Geralt let that go. “He's remembering things. You're just verifying at this point.”

“Remembering what?” Yennefer turned back to Jaskier and handed him a pair of scissors. “Lock of hair.” In the old days, she would have just walked up to him and cut it herself, giving Jaskier a heart attack in the process. Clearly, even Yennefer knew this younger Jaskier needed careful handling. Geralt appreciated that.

“A contract he took,” Jaskier said. “With elves. How I—Jaskier—got his lute.” He went quiet, a blush rising on his cheeks. “A few other things.” Yen rolled her eyes and took the lock of hair into her bedroom. Geralt did not follow.

She came back and confirmed more or less what Geralt already knew: as far as she could tell, this was the same Jaskier, same soul, same man. She went on about a resonance in his cells matching the first Jaskier perfectly, but Geralt didn't need to hear the methodology. It was a relief, in a way, to know Geralt wasn't pining over a memory slipped over the skin of another. How much he tried to hold himself back when all he wanted to do was kiss Jaskier breathless...

“Human reincarnation doesn't happen,” she cautioned as they were on the way out. “And it only happens with a destiny unfulfilled. You knew him better than I, but as I remember it, Jaskier didn't have much of a destiny in the first place. He led you to yours, that's it, that was his purpose.”

“Maybe he's a gift,” Geralt whispered. Jaskier stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes wide as he watched the magic of Aretuza around him—the floating books trailing behind their mages, the eternally beautiful sorcerers and sorceresses wandering about in next to nothing—and Geralt took advantage of his moment of inattention to have a good long stare. Jaskier's pretty pink lips, his eyes and the soft curve of his chin, the cut on his head now healed by Yen, not a single mark marring his beautiful face... Not a familial match, but the man himself, a face Geralt never thought he'd see again.

“We stopped aging a long time ago,” he said. “Not even you know why. Witchers aren't supposed to last this long and we're getting weary of the world.” Geralt got tired of the world in the sixteen hundreds; Lambert lost interest after the drugs of the sixties, then the eighties proved too much for him; and Eskel kept his opinions close, but he went through cycles of boredom and mild amusement every century. None of them were truly happy anymore, most days, they struggled for contentment. The moment he saw Jaskier, Geralt remembered what happiness felt like, a fire inside of him that had long been snuffed out roared to life again. “Maybe he's here to keep us waiting for what comes next...”

“It's possible,” Yennefer said. “Here's hoping Destiny doesn't take too long. I'm not prepared to watch you lose him again.”

And with that sitting sourly in the back of his mind, Geralt kissed Yen goodbye and they headed out. Jaskier sat a little closer in the front seat now, had ever since they encountered the elves. Geralt pulled away from Aretuza and placed a hand on Jaskier's thigh, not so high as to be untoward, but familiar. After all, they were _familiar_ , and they had a lot of time to make up for.

The drive to Corvo Bianco took the better part of a week. Jaskier asked for story after story and the time passed quick enough; he pointed to each photograph in the Scout and asked for detailed descriptions. “Roach,” Jaskier said, pointing at the picture of the horse. Geralt hadn't said her name yet. Little memories continued to fill his head, surprising them both. “I think Jaskier liked her. He, I mean I, snuck her apples when you weren't looking.”

“I remember.” He knew when Jaskier had an apple on him, the fruit more fragrant than their usual dried trail rations. He'd make a quick trip to relieve himself and when he returned, Roach smelled of apple instead. It wasn't hard to put together.

They spent every night curled in the back of the Scout, sharing the one pillow Geralt had. He tried to find a motel but Jaskier insisted. “This is how you travel, so it's how I want to travel.” He laid the back seat down flat, making room and patting the leather next to him. “Come now, you're exhausted, I see it. You can't keep driving like this, and since you won't let me touch your precious vehicle...”

Geralt laughed and slid into the back. The words were modern—vehicle instead of horse—but the sentiment was the same. He heard the same lecture from the Jaskier of old many, many times.

The first two nights, Geralt tried to keep his distance, letting Jaskier stretch out while he curled himself in the corner. Without fail, Jaskier arched an eyebrow and yanked at Geralt until he moved closer, wrapping them around one another for the night. With his nose pressed in Jaskier's hair, he smelled the desire rolling off of him. And yet... Geralt could never push himself to reach out like _that_. Reincarnated or not, he still took a young man out of his home for the first time and carted him across the Continent. Jaskier needed some breathing room, time to get used to a possibly new life. And if this wasn't permanent, if Jaskier decided to go back to Upper Posada, the last thing Geralt needed was the fresh sting of watching Jaskier walk away with the taste of the bard still on his lips...

“Are you going to kiss me again?” Jaskier whispered, his hands stroking Geralt's hair, nails brushing the shorn sides before carding through the longer lengths. “I rather liked it. Or are you entertaining misplaced thoughts about protecting my virtue, because I'm eighteen and you're...”

“Eight hundred and fifty. Ish.”

“Oh.” Jaskier's hands stilled, but he did not pull back. “And when you first met him, what was the age gap then?”

“About fifty years. Give or take.” Jaskier was so very close, the heat of his skin, his smell filling the air... It took every last bit of Geralt's control not to roll on top and fuck him until dawn. But he couldn't. Maybe new Jaskier didn't want him like that. Maybe he didn't really want any of them. Maybe—

“Well, you've dealt with that mental hurdle before,” Jaskier said, cutting off his thoughts. “And if you're not going to take me, I guess I can take you.”

He pushed Geralt flat onto his back and rolled on top of him, their hips slotting together. Hungry lips attacked his, biting and sucking before melting into softer kisses... putting Geralt in his place, as it were. Now he remembered what Lambert liked about Jaskier ordering him around. Jaskier thrust his tongue past Geralt's lips, kissing so deep, Geralt never wanted him to leave. Hands opened his belt and fly easy enough, and his cock just fell out into Jaskier's hand. Jaskier groaned, breaking the kiss to stare down at his new handful. “I knew I'd find treasure inside those indecently tight jeans of yours. It really wasn't fair to make me wait this long.”

Geralt grabbed for his lips again, lifting his hips so Jaskier could pull his jeans all the way off. “Lube's in my bag,” he mumbled.

“You get up to a lot of this on the road?” Jaskier asked as he squirted a generous dollop into his hand, his jeans discarded long ago.

“When I cross paths with Eskel or Lambert,” Geralt said. “Can't survive as long as we have without companionship.”

Jaskier paused, eyes going distant the way he did when he started to remember. “Yes... you're all... I remember. Laying with you all, spending the winter in your bed, the four of us.” A shiver ran through him and Jaskier focused down on Geralt, a new hunger in him. He bit his lip and pushed his fingers behind Geralt's balls, two sliding right in, making him moan. “He's been gone for a very long time. I think I have some making up to do.”

A few more quick thrusts with his fingers and the head of Jaskier's cock brushed between his cheeks. Geralt couldn't help but moan, arching, pushing down to try and get more. He pulled Jaskier in until he bottomed out, both of them panting and growling. With Jaskier's smell around him, Jaskier's fucking cock fucking into him, Geralt let himself go. He let himself remember what it was like to have the human hot and soft and beautiful with them all winter, keeping their hearts warm...

* * *

Jaskier's eyes didn't go wide at the beauty of Corvo Bianco the second he saw it. The dull stone walls surrounding the property were built to keep people out, not be pretty enough to invite them to see what was inside. But once they were through the large gates, Jaskier gave the reaction Geralt was looking for.

“What...” Soft lips opened in shock, shining eyes darting everywhere to take in the beautiful edifice of Corvo Bianco. While Geralt made a lot of renovations over the years, he tried to keep the front of the house the same as it was when he first cleaned it up. The property was in such disrepair when he got it, it took months of renovation and restoration—overseen by the most competent majordomo Geralt had ever worked with—to make the house gleam again.

“This is, oh Geralt, this is so beautiful.” He slumped back into the seat, one hand clasped to his forehead, mouth hanging open. “I'm in the verdant fucking hills of Toussaint, about to stay in a bucolic mansion with three Witchers. How is this my life?”

Geralt parked the Scout in the garage and got out, watching Jaskier. “Is it too much?”

“Pfft.” Jaskier got out and grabbed his bag and his lute from the back. “I just found out I'm actually the reincarnation of the ancestor I was named for, and you think a beautiful mansion is my tipping point? No, my dear Witcher, this is not too much.”

“Good.” Geralt slipped his phone out of his pocket and quickly texted Eskel and Lambert. No need to have them launch themselves down the stairs the instant they smelled Jaskier, better forewarned than scaring the human away. “It's not really a mansion. More a manor, I'd say.”

Jaskier stopped and glared at Geralt. “I count four out buildings and you have a wall with a gate. This is a mansion.”

Geralt shrugged. “We used to have a castle.”

Jaskier's eyes went distant again. “Yes, Kaer Morhen... I think I remember it.” He smiled to himself and stepped closer to Geralt. “Before you came back for me, I, uh... had a few dreams about our times there. Memories.” Jaskier adjusted himself a little and Geralt smelled a spike of arousal on the air. “Some of the things we all got up to.”

“And maybe will again.” _Don't get your hopes up_ , the little voice in the back of Geralt's head said. A few nights in the back of the Scout did not mean Jaskier was ready to spend a whole season fucking them. Baby steps.

Geralt opened the front door—it was always unlocked when they were home, just like Kaer Morhen's doors—and let Jaskier go in front of him, taking in the splendor he worked so hard to preserve.

A large pool table filled the front foyer. Not the most historically accurate addition to the house, but Lambert learned how to hustle pool like he used to hustle at Gwent for some quick cash on the road when he was too far away from a bank. He insisted they get one for the house, and Geralt had no reason to say no. Lambert and Eskel stood at the other end of the pool table, Eskel with a steadying hand on Lambert's back to keep him from vibrating out of his skin at the sight of Jaskier.

“Hello again,” Jaskier said. He nodded at Eskel before letting his eyes slide to Lambert. “And hello to you too.” Walking slowly, Jaskier moved towards Lambert. Eskel stepped out of the way, keeping one hand on his brother and watching for any sudden movements. Even after centuries of regulating their emotions, learning how to balance themselves around humans, they were all so on edge at the moment, they needed to be careful.

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Lambert's neck, which earned a full body shiver. He immediately melted into Jaskier's touch, the thinnest thread of control stopping him from begging Jaskier to fuck him right on the pool table. “I've been looking forward to seeing you again.” Jaskier's voice was soft but firm, the way he spoke to Lambert when it was just them, one hand wrapped around Lambert's cock, the other pinning his wrists together.

Lambert crumbled, closing the distance between them and pressing their lips together. He opened his mouth, waiting for Jaskier to claim him the way he used to. Geralt called them after they left Yennefer—it was a reincarnation. This was Jaskier. And more than anything, Lambert wanted Jaskier to touch him like the old days. One hand slid down to his shoulder, thumb brushing his collar bone, and a tongue pressed in, taking over the kiss. Lambert almost swooned. He definitely moaned and pushed Jaskier back onto the pool table. Only Eskel's hand on his back stopped him from stripping bare and falling to his knees in their front hall.

With a small nip to his bottom lip, Jaskier broke the kiss. His eyes slid to Eskel. “I don't think you've had a turn yet,” he whispered.

A slow smirk spread across Eskel's face, his scars curving in a far too attractive manner. “I believe you are right.”

Eskel stood still, letting Jaskier come to him. After the first too wet to be chaste kiss, soft lips went to the corner of his mouth and kissed the scars tearing through his face, still red and livid after all these years. Jaskier followed the jagged lines upwards, over Eskel's cheek, all the way to his hair line. He stopped suddenly, pulled back and blinked, a little surprised at his boldness. It was one thing to stick his tongue in a man's mouth, quite another to kiss half their face. “Uh, I'm sorry, don't know why I did that.”

Jaskier tried to lean away and Eskel caught him, kissing one last time before releasing him. “It's alright, I enjoyed it.” _Jaskier always kissed my scars_ , he didn't say. They had more than enough time to get to the old stories.

Face a little red, cock a little hard, Jaskier tried to step back only to run into Geralt's firm chest. Geralt stepped back right away to give him room. “I thought you might want a tour,” he said.

“Yes, yes, a tour sounds great.” Eskel took his bags and placed them in a bedroom off the hall—Jaskier glanced inside and saw a very large bed and lots of paintings and personal knickknacks—hopefully Geralt's bedroom.

Geralt toured them through the house, “Kitchen is here, you don't need to bother with it, Eskel doesn't let anyone else cook.”

Jaskier paused. “You do remember that you found me working in a diner, right? A family diner. I can cook. I can even make those country fried steaks you all wolfed down.”

Eskel smirked. “I'll order us a deep fryer.”

The tour continued—dining table just off the main hall outside the kitchen, a smaller bedroom and a large master suite on the ground floor, more bedrooms upstairs. “We all end up in Geralt's room most nights,” Lambert said. Geralt shot him a sharp glare and he shrugged it off. “We like being close to each other.”

Eskel nodded and brushed his shoulder against Lambert, Geralt's eyes softening a little. Jaskier tried to contain his smile. All the things he read about Witchers, be it from Jaskier journals or less reliable sources, spoke of their ferocity and their absolute dedication to their job. Only the first Jaskier also spoke of the softness he witnessed in these hard men and watching it now right in front of him made his heart flutter.

Geralt led them out of the house into the back, towards one of the out buildings Jaskier spotted earlier. “There's a bathroom inside the house, several actually. But uh, this is the _good_ bathroom.” Geralt opened the door to reveal gleaming tile and sparkling fixtures. A large jacuzzi tub sat in the far corner, with another giant soaking tub across from an entirely mirrored wall with a long trough sink and five silver taps. A free hanging shower head dangled down over a drain with a small raised circle of tile around it to keep water from flowing everywhere finished out the amazing bath house.

Jaskier spotted two doors at the far wall, and before he could ask, Geralt said, “One door leads to the toilets, the other goes to the sauna.”

Jaskier's mouth dropped open and he had to grip the edge of the door to keep from running inside. “Can this be my room?” All his life, he shared a bathroom with his _entire_ family. Sure, it was the master bath, but six people using the same bathroom so the powder room and the upstairs bath could be reserved for guests took a toll on an adolescent boy.

Geralt chuckled and shut the door. Jaskier tried not to whine. No matter how long he stayed with the Witchers (forever, if he had it his way) Jaskier intended to spend as much time as possible in that bathroom, yes sir.

The sun started to set, bathing the entire property in a luminous orange glow. Geralt led them back to the front of the house. “Garage used to be the stables. We all switched out horses for cars decades ago. The third outbuilding is, well, it's kind of our armory. We store gear and do some repairs. We have a forge too.” He stopped in front of a door, the wood darker and heavier than most of the others, with a few steps leading down into the earth. “This used to be the wine cellar. We haven't made wine here in a very long time and didn't want to space to go to waste.” He didn't continue and looked down at the door handle but did not open it.

They all suddenly grew quiet. Through the whole tour, Lambert and Eskel offered their opinions on their home, Geralt grumbling back that it was _his home_ , he just decided to share it with his brothers. And they all stepped away, giving Jaskier more room. Ever since he entered the house (after those amazing kisses) they all kept a bubble around him, staying just out of touching range. He didn't know why they were doing it, and as soon as Geralt finished his lovely tour, Jaskier was going to pull them all in close whether they liked it or not.

Finally, Geralt spoke. “His things are down here. Jaskier's things. Books, journals... Other objects too, it's all climate controlled storage to keep everything in good condition—you can look at the paintings we salvaged from Kaer Morhen... But most of it is his.”

Ah, Jaskier understood now. Through the bits and pieces of memory, and the journals Lambert showed him, Jaskier knew the first man of his name adored these Witchers more than his own life. The feeling was mutual, it seemed, and with so long alone, they hung on to their memories and mementos of their lost lover. _Do you want to see our shrine?_ Geralt thought he was asking, but Jaskier heard _do you want to know how much we loved him?_

“Can I see it?” he whispered.

Geralt opened the door. The hall was well lit, but not overly so, holding onto the slightly cool earthy feel of a re-purposed wine cellar. They all moved in closer as Geralt opened another door at the end of the hall. The low lighting of the room made it a little hard for Jaskier to see, but his eyes soon adjusted, he knew all the conditions were there for the protection of these precious objects and he loved the Witchers even more for their care.

Shelves on one wall, movable stacks at the back, with a few filing cabinets for loose documents against a third wall, objects organized by date grouped in acid free containers. A large study table filled the center of the room with enough space to walk around it, a box of nitrile gloves and several sets of clean white gloves placed safely in the center of the table. Holding his arms behind his back, Jaskier walked to the stacks and read the labels. Under the dates were carefully written notes in a few different hands— _1238, beginning of Oxenfurt years; 1240, end of Oxenfurt years; 1262, goes back to Oxenfurt after Dutchess what's her name dumped him_.

Jaskier giggled, a little surprised he could tell exactly who wrote which note. His eyes scanned the stacks and saw a three ring binder hanging from a chain attached to the corner of the wall. The binder contained more detailed notes, and descriptions of the contents of each journal in each container on each stack. _1240, meets Geralt. That's the bulk of this journal. Contains the original drafts of Toss a Coin. 1242, first winter at Kaer Morhen, meets Eskel and Lambert. NOTE: Lambert, please stop removing this one and taking it to your room. I'll photo copy it for you._

Jaskier didn't want to get too distracted reading all of Eskel's notes (for it was Eskel who organized these, Jaskier recognized his hand despite never seeing it before) but made a mental note to come back to a few. Namely, 1251 through 1254, which Eskel's very official notes described as “ _Three winters of porn, Lambert don't take these either, I'll copy them for you_.”

He finally managed to tear himself away and turned to find them all staring at him, shoulders tight, energy cracking through them, waiting for his reaction. Jaskier stepped towards them, burying himself in Geralt's arms like he'd always been there. “Thank you for letting me down here. I know how important his memory is to you.” He looked at Eskel. “You cataloged everything, didn't you? I'd like to see your work sometime.”

A blush stole up Eskel's neck and he ducked his head. “Yes, I can show you.”

They all went back up to the house, Jaskier taking one last look at the legacy of the man who shared his name... no, _his_ legacy. Or at least part of it. The most important legacy Jaskier left behind were the three Witchers trying their best not to scare him away while also reaching out for the love they so missed. Jaskier had just met them, but in a way, he'd known them all his life, and he desperately wanted to feel them in his arms again.

Before Jaskier could suggest another sort of tour he'd like (namely, of Geralt's bedroom) Eskel disappeared up the stairs. He came back a moment later with a lute in his hands. It was the most beautiful instrument Jaskier had ever seen. Dark, lustrous wood shone red in the light, deep chocolate in shadow, with delicate gold inlay swirling up the sides. Eskel cradled it in his hands with all the tenderness of a mother holding her child.

He extended it out to Jaskier. “This was his—yours. A copy of it. I had it made a few years ago and I play it sometimes, but you should have it. I saw you had your own lute, and I understand if you want to keep that one.”

Jaskier waved away the thought and took it carefully from Eskel's hands. The wood sang under his fingers and Jaskier heard its voice in his head, a memory of so long ago. The replica wouldn't have exactly the same sound, but the beautiful craftsmanship showed it was a well made instrument indeed and would sound lovely and resinous. “No, it's fine. Mum found that lute at a flea market, it's nothing special. Not like this. It looks exactly like his did.” A memory flashed behind his eyes, blue silk doublet discarded over the back of a chair, his sleeves rolled up as he sat on the bed, this lute in his hands, composition book spread across his knees. “Like _mine_ , looks exactly like my lute.”

A wave ripped through them. Geralt's mouth dropped open. Jaskier, standing there holding the elven lute, his eyes went wide. “You're him,” he whispered. “You're him. Fuck, Jaskier, I've missed you so much.”

Jaskier barely had time to set the beautiful lute safely on the pool table before Geralt crushed their lips together, arms pulling Jaskier to his chest. The weeks they traveled together, first to Aretuza, then down to Toussaint, Geralt kissed him just fine. He was a little reluctant at first and Jaskier took the lead, kissing Geralt breathless, thrusting into him in the back of the Scout, but he soon warmed to touching Jaskier and fucking him. But there was always a layer between them, like a sheet of glass covering Jaskier's skin, glass that Geralt was afraid to break or mark, or even touch. He didn't hold him too hard, fingers only brushed gently, lips kissed but teeth didn't grab hold. Now, the sheet of glass was gone, and Geralt held tight to Jaskier, hard enough to bruise. Teeth nipped his lips and trailed down his neck, sucking love bites into his skin. The image of Jaskier—reincarnated, the same fucking Jaskier in a blue V-neck instead of a blue doublet—holding a lute was the final push they all needed and the dam burst.

The barrier of fear was gone and they all crowded in. Eskel behind Geralt, holding on to both of them, and Lambert pushed up against Jaskier's back, hard cock rutting against his jeans. They started moving, Jaskier didn't know where, he so was focused on kissing them all—nipping Geralt's lip, licking up Eskel's scars, and biting Lambert's neck—that he only registered the change of location when he felt a mattress under his back.

And fuck if it wasn't the most comfortable bed he'd ever been in. Jaskier arched into the plush pillow top filled with what felt like angel feathers as Geralt stripped his jeans, Lambert clawing at his shirt. There was a rip of fabric and a small curse but Jaskier did not fucking care. Sprawled naked on the bed, he pushed them all away. “You too,” he panted. “I can't be the only one naked.”

They all had the same feral wolf smile and Jaskier did not expect it to be so fucking attractive. His cock twitched and Geralt chuckled, low and gravely, as he pulled back, hands going to his fly. No matter how many times Jaskier saw it, he could not get enough of the sight of Geralt unbuttoning his sinfully tight jeans. They looked fucking painted on. As soon as he popped open the button and drew down the fly, his cock just fell out, like it had been waiting all day for freedom. Jaskier licked his lips and tried to lunge forward. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, pushing him back onto the bed. Pushing his jeans the rest of the way off, Geralt crawled on top of him, sinking teeth into his neck and sucking more bruises into his skin.

Lambert and Eskel stripped out of their clothes and climbed into the bed. Three mouths, six hands, all touching him, licking him, it was overwhelming in the best kind of way. Not a single moment passed without a mouth against his and a hand on his cock. Jaskier tried to reach out and return some affection, but the intensity of the Witchers was impossible to match. They set on him like a pack of wolves hungry for his pleasure.

Wolves...

A memory sparked behind Jaskier's eyes. A large bed in Geralt's room, the roaring fire keeping them warm on the cold winter night. Geralt thrusting slowly into him while Lambert worshiped his lips, kissing deeply, begging with little moans and whimpers for Jaskier to bite harder. Eskel lay on the other side, lazily stroking Jaskier's cock as Geralt's hands were busy, one tangled in Eskel's hair, the other planted firmly on the bed.

Geralt gave a soft growl and Jaskier smiled. “Yes, my wolves... my lovely wolves. Here to devour me?”

Jaskier opened his eyes again and looked around at those same men, the same Witchers who gathered around him like a flame. He reached out and tangled his fingers in Geralt's hair. “My wolves,” he whispered. “I called you my wolves.” He yanked Geralt's head down, their lips brushing. “I'm so happy to be back.”

Hands, fingers and mouths didn't stop touching him all night. Eskel pulled him down on his chest as Lambert gripped his hips. A soft tongue circled his hole as a calloused hand stroked his cock. Jaskier shook and cried out as he came and came and came again. He wanted to reciprocate but they were far too focused on his pleasure. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eskel spoon up behind Geralt and slip inside as Lambert pulled Jaskier down on top of him on the other side of the bed. A few more ruts and hot come splashed across his stomach, only to be licked away a moment later by a hot tongue, teeth softly scraping his stomach.

He fell asleep in a pile of arms and legs, sweaty, exhausted and completely wrung out. With Lambert tucked under his chin and Geralt and Eskel behind, Jaskier had never slept more soundly. It might not be Kaer Morhen, but after so long, he was home again at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is an example of the movable stacks I'm talking about:
> 
> (Sorry for the water mark, best pic I could find for what I wanted to show). All the places I've worked in have buttons and they move automatically, these are the ones you have to crank to move along a track. They are seriously cool. If anyone remembers the BBC Sherlock episode "The Blind Banker" they have movable stacks in the museum storage area. This is mostly the museum person in me thinking "if I had the space and unlimited money, how long would it take me to build a museum vault under my house?" And the answer is "not long." I'm living through Eskel, a bit.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the memories of Jaskier's old life poured into his head, the differences came into sharp relief—Eskel and Geralt were more relaxed, more open with their emotions, and Lambert had calmed way the fuck down. They'd had seven hundred years to change and grow, and here Jaskier was with old information. The men he knew were prickly and closed off outside the walls of their keep. These men right here were open and loving, and so very delicate with his feelings like they never were before. What if Lambert didn't need Jaskier to make him feel loved anymore? What if he no longer wanted Jaskier to take care of him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is tied for my favorite chapter with chapter three--both very Lambert centric. Jaskier is going to reconnect with all of them on a different level, so there will be a lot to enjoy for a few chapters :)
> 
> I think I mentioned it before, but Geralt and the others have money. They still charge for jobs because you never know when you might run out of cash in the middle of nowhere, but I cannot abide long lived characters who don't learn how to save money for the future, especially if they're going to be around for a while.
> 
> Since Jaskier's life is slowly coming back to him, there will be little flashbacks filling in his blanks. He's been with them for about a month at this point. Please enjoy, and visual aids in the end notes :)

Jaskier took to Corvo Bianco like a duck to water. He had his own room, Geralt insisted on it, but the bed was of a purely decorative nature as Jaskier never slept there. It was essentially his lute's bedroom. When he noticed a piano around the corner from the kitchen, he asked Geralt about it; the next afternoon, he found it in the living room, cleaned up to a shine and tuned. Jaskier did not hear a piano tuner come to the door and had no idea how the three of the managed to move it without making a single noise. But in its new place of prominence, he liked to play for them after dinner, watching Geralt and Eskel slowly kiss on the sofa while spread across Lambert's lap. He never managed to get through a full piece, always breaking away to join the activities...

Jaskier's room started collecting other instruments too, two flutes, a mandolin, a lyre, and a violin, things Eskel had tucked away in his room—also mostly unused. It seemed Geralt went to a great deal of trouble to expand his house and give the others bedrooms that they didn't sleep in. Night after night, they all ended up in Geralt's mammoth bed, which Jaskier figured out was so large because it needed to fit three Witchers at all times, with enough room left over for a human.

A deep fryer appeared in the kitchen after about a week and Jaskier made country fried steak. Eating diner food in the middle of a posh house was a little odd, but they all gushed over the meal and Jaskier was happy they were happy. The bath house and the sauna were magical, just as he thought, and Jaskier soon discovered that all the baths were just big enough for four people.

The first time he had to venture out for supplies, there was a bit of a fight about it. A small spat, really. “Jaskier, you don't have to go into town, we'll get anything you need,” Eskel said.

“I'd like to pick out my own clothing, thank you. I had to pack up my life in twenty minutes, I only brought so much underwear.” Eskel's mouth snapped shut with a pop and he drew back, a frown twisting his scars. Jaskier sighed and went into his arms, hand sliding over that achingly slow heart. “I love it here. You aren't three brutes who took me away from my family, I came with you because I love you and I want you all in my life.” They kept doing this, whenever they were reminded that Jaskier gave up his life, a weird wave of guilt over took them. No matter how many times he told them—Jaskier wanted this life, there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

He kissed Eskel and stepped away. “But, I still want to go out, explore the area a bit, buy my own underwear.”

The question of money came up—he hadn't brought much with him and didn't know if there was a bank in the quaint little village at the bottom of the hill. “Is there an ATM nearby?” He hated dipping into his Oxenfurt savings, but needs must.

Geralt didn't blink and opened his wallet, handing Jaskier _five hundred_ crowns. It wasn't even all the bills he had on him, maybe about half. Jaskier stared at the money in his hand, mouth agape. “Are you serious?” he whispered. “You were ready to quibble over three hundred for a job!”

“No banks in the middle of nowhere, I need it on the road. We've walked the Continent since gold coins were made of actual gold, you don't think we learned how to save money?” Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier's temple and tilted his chin up. “You will never want with us, not for love, food, shelter or coin. Take the money. You're the reason I have it.”

“That's right...” Another memory triggered. The first Jaskier pestering Geralt about a block of derelict houses in Oxenfurt, fix them up and sell them for a fortune... Geralt gave him the coin just to shut him up and they ended up turning a tidy profit that Jaskier encouraged him to reinvest. Jaskier smiled to himself. “Alright then, thank you very much.” He kissed a bristly cheek and whispered, “Sugar daddy,” before pulling away.

Geralt also gave him a car to drive into town, which he called a junker. Jaskier called it an immaculately clean brand new Charger. Cash in his wallet, shopping list in hand, phone fully charged, Jaskier set off for the village just over the next hill. He saw all three of them gathered by the front door, watching him go, worry pinching their faces.

The nearby village—Geralt's words—was actually a large town. Workers from the other vineyards settled there. After Corvo Bianco stopped producing wine, its workers fanned out to the other vineyards, but Geralt had a very soft touch as far as land lords went and hadn't raised the rent on his lands in two hundred years, spurring a thriving community with much disposable income to spend on clothing, food, and entertainment. Jaskier parked outside of a pub and started walking around, looking for clothing shops. These country towns tried to keep their old time character and it was easier to walk than drive the large Charger through the too narrow streets.

He found a shop and stocked up on socks, briefs, a few new shirts and four pairs of jeans. After working in a diner for most of his life, he knew how easy it was to lose a piece of clothing to a sudden grease stain, better to have too much clothing than find himself out of jeans.

As he walked towards the front to pay, the sleepwear section caught his eye. He was too old for pajamas and ended up naked most nights anyway (especially with his current bed company) but he gravitated towards a rack of silky looking pajama bottoms. With their heightened senses, his Witchers were very sensitive to smell, but they also were prone to getting lost in a new tactile sensation. Geralt had more than a few soft blankets that were never used as blankets, they were just there to hold and stroke when he wanted. Lambert had a straight up bolt of silk cloth in his room that he liked to rub his face against, and Eskel had a collection of well maintained furs he liked to pet.

Jaskier went over to the rack and gently felt some of the pajamas. They were all nice, but most were satin, or silk like, not the actual thing, and while that might be fine to Jaskier's hands, it wasn't good enough for his Witchers. A rack at the back of the section caught his eye. _100% Silk_ , the tag proclaimed. Already, these were softer than any of the others, and three times the price. It wasn't like he didn't have the money...

Jaskier picked out two pairs of pajama bottoms, one blue, one black, and brought everything up to the counter. The shop woman rang him up and Jaskier felt a trill of panic at the large number, then remembered the even larger amount of crowns in his wallet. He paid and left, stopping by the car to store his bags and heading out again, this time in search of food. He found a lovely little sandwich shop with an attached bakery, and thought about getting a decadent chocolate cake to bring back home. Eskel and Lambert teased Geralt for his sweet tooth as he added honey _and_ sugar to his tea, but he bet they wouldn't turn their noses up at cake.

A little shop on the other side of the bakery drew his eye. The window was darker than most of the other shops, less showing off their wares and more inviting people in to see the mystery. Well, it sure as hell pulled Jaskier in. He finished his sandwich and walked over. His breath caught at the thick black leather cuff set sitting in the window. A cat of nine tails and other _specific_ gear were also on display. Jaskier paused to contain his excitement before heading inside.

The shop was well lit, the aisles clean and orderly, sections easily identifiable. Off to the right, he saw dildos and vibrators more geared towards women, on the left, butt plugs and other anal toys for mostly men, and way at the back, a red velvet curtain proclaimed _Bondage Gear This Way_. He headed that direction. Behind the curtain, he found more leather: paddles for spanking, harnesses, strap-ons, but nothing like the cuffs he saw in the window.

The curtain opened. “Can I help you?” a female voice asked. “I don't mean to crowd you, but if you need help, I'm here.”

A blonde woman with blue tips and a nose piercing smiled at him. Yes, Jaskier had been to shops like this before, he wasn't so intimidated as to be useless, but... “Yes, I'd like some help, thank you. You have leather cuffs in the window, like this one,” he held up his wrist, “my, uh, partner, he works with his hands and his is a little more worn out. I wanted to get us a new set.”

“Oh, right.” She led him over to the side, to a small display of similar cuffs, some heavily padded with hooks for binding the hands together, some without. He saw a simple black pair that more or less matched the one he already had, which is what he was looking for. “We have a few more ornate ones too. With studs, stuff like that. Some couples have a plain one for every day wear and something fancier for when they play. Something to consider.”

“That it is.” The thing was, he and Lambert hadn't _played_ yet. There was sex, oh sweet goddess there was sex; after dinner, before bed, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the day, all of them, just two of them, every possible combination Jaskier could imagine. But he and Lambert hadn't done anything like this yet. He remembered the old days, holding Lambert's wrists down as he thrust into him, pushing three fingers into his mouth to stifle his moans, whispering, “Good wolves stay quiet, I'll give you a treat if you don't make a sound...”

It wasn't about making Lambert obey or giving harsh commands to watch him try and fail at. Jaskier remembered sweet whispered words “You're so good for me, I love you so much my wolf, will you kneel for me? You're so beautiful when you kneel...” He remembered a lot of pleasure and no pain, no paddling or spanking, that wasn't how he took care of Lambert. Jaskier was there to praise him and ask him to be good, and most of all, to take care of him and let him relax for a few hours, someone else to look after his pleasure. But it was all just memories of another life, nothing they'd done together, at least not in this century. Did Jaskier still know what Lambert liked? Did Lambert still want that from him?

“I'm not trying to pressure you to buy two,” the woman said. “I didn't mean it to sound like that.”

“Hmm?” Jaskier shook himself out of his haze of memory. “Oh, sorry, I was thinking...” How to explain this in a way that wasn't completely insane? “You see, me and my partner have been apart for a long time. He had work on the other side of the Continent, too far for me to go. He's back now, and I'm afraid I might not know what he likes anymore.” There, that sounded sort of normal. “I want to give him a gift that shows I love him, but nothing with too much pressure.”

She nodded knowingly. “Got it, long distance is hard. If you want my advice, and you want to get something for a session as well, but not too out there, I'd get the plain one you have, and then this.” She grabbed another pair off the shelf. Black leather again, but with a few rivets and flat metal studs in an alternating pattern. It looked more serious than the simple black cuff with two snaps, but didn't hold the weight of the spikes, or hooks for linking the cuffs together.

“Yes, that's perfect, thank you so much.”

Jaskier grabbed both pairs of cuffs and headed back into the store proper. He stopped by a display of men's backless underwear—jock straps and the like—and felt heat crawling up his face. All three of them were magnificent specimens of anatomy, replete with lickable muscles, chiseled jawlines, and the finest asses this side of the Pontar, and the idea of Lambert's ass framed so perfectly for Jaskier's viewing pleasure was just too fucking good to resist. He found a pair with more of a slit at the back, just a peek of his fine assets, and a pouch at the front to show off his other gifts. He bought three pairs in three different colors. Yes, he might be going a little overboard, but the thought of Lambert laid out for him, the slit at the back of his shorts showing a tantalizing hint of cheek was too much to resist.

His purchases came in a plain white bag and he tucked them under his arm as he bid the shop clerk farewell. “I hope your partner likes his presents,” she said with a smile.

“Yes, I hope so too.” They still had to have a very serious talk about what Lambert wanted from him now... if he still _wanted_ at all.

Jaskier did stop at the bakery and got them a cake. He'd seen them eat, bought the largest cake they had and still doubted it would last the night. He carried the heavy box back to the car and set it carefully in the front seat—he didn't care if Geralt thought it was a junker, Jaskier wasn't getting frosting on leather seats—and he started back towards the house. All in all, a successful outing.

Back at the house, he parked in the garage and texted Geralt, _I have a lot to carry. Come help please?_ and wasn't the least bit surprised when they all trooped out. He pointed Geralt to the cake and threw his new clothes at Eskel. The bag with Lambert's presents, he held under his arm.

“The cake is for after dinner,” he said when he saw Geralt sniffing the box and halfway to opening it. “Fuck, I sound like my mother. Still.”

“Do we get to see these new clothes you bought?” Eskel asked, weighing the bags in his hands. “Maybe a fashion show of some sort?” None of them asked about the bag Jaskier held onto.

“If you like, but they're nothing special. Shirts and jeans mostly. Though, I do have something to show you all before bed.” The silky pajama bottoms were a gift for all of them, to make Jaskier feel better about his gifts for Lambert.

Back in the house, he made sure to watch Geralt put the cake away in the ice box before he left to put his new clothes in his room. Again, he mostly lived in Geralt's room, but he used the closet in his actual bedroom, it was the only thing that showed it wasn't a conservatory.

After kissing him in greeting and rubbing against him a little, Geralt and Eskel drifted back to what they were doing before. Geralt spent most of the day arguing with the backup generator that supplied the property in case of a power outage—common in the countryside—and Eskel was deep in the cellar, cataloging the few journals Jaskier brought from his home.

He caught Lambert at the bottom of the stairs, grabbing his wrist and tugging him back. Lambert stepped off the bottom step just as Jaskier stepped up, giving him a few more inches of height so he could gaze down into those golden eyes. He cupped one hand behind his neck, thumb resting on the hinge of his jaw. Lambert gave a sharp inhale. _Yes,_ Jaskier thought, _I still remember how to make him do that_.

Jaskier dropped his voice low, the way he remembered they used to talk when they were alone. “Lambert, I have something I want to, ah... talk with you about.” He squeezed the bag under his arm, which Lambert did not miss. “Go clean up and meet me in your bedroom.” It was a simple direction—more than a request—Jaskier wanted Lambert to do this for him without asking why. The first small test to see if their old relationship was still there.

Lambert licked his lips, suddenly gone dry. “How long do I have?”

“As long as you need.” He leaned down and kissed him quickly, nipping softly—a promise of things to come.

A full body shudder passed through Lambert as Jaskier pulled away. He shook himself and headed to the back door and out to the bath house. While that was Jaskier's preferred bathroom, he wanted to leave Lambert alone to collect his thoughts, and he needed to do some thinking of his own as well. Walking into one of the many, many bathrooms in this house (five seemed excessive, especially with the bath house out back) Jaskier rinsed the day and the drive from his skin.

Memories flashed whenever he closed his eyes. Lambert kneeling on a pillow, his head against Jaskier's thigh; Lambert with his legs spread wide, cock throbbing, waiting for Jaskier to touch him, fill him; Jaskier's own hands resting at Lambert's throat, the gentle pressure more of a reassurance than a control, a reminder that Jaskier would always be careful with Lambert's trust...

He banged his head lightly against the tiled wall. As the memories of his old life poured into his head, the differences came into sharp relief—Eskel and Geralt were more relaxed, more open with their emotions, and Lambert had calmed way the fuck down. They'd had seven hundred years to change and grow, and here Jaskier was with old information. The men he knew were prickly and closed off outside the walls of their keep. These men right here were open and loving, and so very delicate with his feelings like they never were before. What if Lambert didn't need Jaskier to make him feel loved anymore? What if he no longer wanted Jaskier to take care of him?

Pushing off the sadness of what ifs and uncertainties, Jaskier gave himself a quick scrub and got out of the shower. He grabbed the black pair of silk pajama bottoms and took Lambert's presents to his room, laying the underwear out on the bed for him to see right away. He set the studded cuffs on a shelf out of sight and held the plain ones in his hands, pacing nervously until Lambert returned.

The door opened and Lambert returned from his bath, towel wrapped around his hips. His eyes fell to the colorful underwear spread out on the bed. Jaskier took one last breath to steady himself, settling into the man Lambert used to need, and turned around. “I hope you don't mind, I bought you some gifts today,” Jaskier said, voice low. Lambert reached out to touch but Jaskier's voice held him back. “Not yet, first I want to talk about... us.”

His confidence failed for a moment and Jaskier stepped closer, needing to feel Lambert. “I'm remembering more lately. I remember what we used to be to one another. If you still want that...” He opened his hands and showed Lambert the cuffs, black and shiny, with two silver snaps. Not much different from the ones they both wore now, but these were a set, a matching pair. “I thought you might like a new cuff.”

Lambert sucked in a breath and gave a shaky nod. “I'd like that very much. All of it. I've missed that for a very long time.”

The balloon of anxiety in Jaskier's chest popped, flooding him with relief. “That's wonderful. Yes, as soon as I remembered, all I wanted was to feel my hands around your wrists again.” And against Lambert's throat, that strong steady heart pulsing against his fingers. “But, uh, there's more.” He stepped away and put the cuffs on the shelf, retrieving the studded leather and offering one to Lambert. “I went to the sex shop in town to buy these. The clerk said some couples have a regular band for every day and a more ornate one for sessions. I know we never did anything like that...”

Lambert chuckled and took the offered cuff, looking it over, rubbing the cool studs set into the leather. “Didn't have sex shops when we were first together, had to go see a sorcerer. I was never fond of sticking magic up my ass, doesn't end well.”

After examining the cuff, Lambert opened the snaps and put it on his right wrist. A change came over him, his eyes got softer, his shoulders less tense. He met Jaskier's eyes and dropped his towel, exposing himself for Jaskier's viewing pleasure. “What now?” he whispered.

Jaskier nodded to the bed as he removed his old cuff and snapped the new one into place. The studs were cool against his wrist but since it wasn't for every day wear, he could get used to it. “Pick which ones you like. They're all the same, I didn't know which color would look best on you.” Three pairs, red, black, and blue. Lambert would look divine in all of them, hard cock emphasized by the pocket at the front, ass framed and flaunted by the slit at the back. Jaskier turned around while Lambert got dressed. “Whichever pairs you don't pick, put them aside, I want the bed clear.”

He closed his eyes and heard the slide of fabric over skin slightly damp from the slower. A small huffed laugh tickled his ears. “Alright, I'm ready.”

Jaskier turned around and bit his lip. He picked the black pair with blue piping... and the piping around the front pouch did oh so much to emphasize Lambert's already substantial cock, the black reminded Jaskier of the armor they all used to look so fetching in. “Turn around,” he whispered, barely keeping the shake out of his voice. Lambert did as asked, bending at the waist a little to widen the slit. It looked better than Jaskier dared dream. Plump cheeks barely peeking out at the center, the slit offering a tantalizing look, yet full access if need be.

Jaskier ran his finger lightly down Lambert's cleft and felt him shiver. “On the bed, flat on your stomach, feet on the floor, legs wide.”

Lambert scrambled to get into position. It wasn't hard, well, maybe a little hard with his cock pinched between him and the bed, fucking begging for Jaskier to touch it... No sooner had Lambert laid down than the silk of Jaskier's new pajamas brushed the inside of his thighs. Dropping his head to the bed, he let out a long groan. “F-fuck.”

A hand trailed up his spine, fingers gentle. “Is that good? Do you like the silk?”

“Yes.” His hands clawed at the bed, trying to grab a hold to keep himself tethered to reality for another few minutes. Jaskier would break him apart in no time at all, but a few last moments to savor the building scene were appreciated. “You had so much silk in the old days. Let me rub myself off on you...”

“We can do that again. But these are for you all to enjoy.” Jaskier grabbed a pillow from the bed and placed it on the floor before kneeling down. “Now, I'd like to enjoy you.” That was all the warning Lambert got before strong hands parted his cheeks and Jaskier's tongue fucking _licked_ up his crack before settling on his hole.

Slurping licks and maddening circles made Lambert's cock throb. His tongue pressed inside and Lambert bit off a moan. Jaskier stopped licking, breath still hot on his wet skin. “I want to hear you. Tell me what you're feeling.” The tongue returned, plunging in deeper and Lambert started to break apart.

“Fuck, Jaskier, I missed you so much. So long, all I wanted was to feel your hands on me again. I asked Geralt—let him touch my neck, hold me down—but it was never the same. They tried to give me what you did, but it was just you, always you...”

Even though the idea of Geralt with his large hands at Lambert's wrists made Jaskier's cock twitch, part of him preened. For once, the White Wolf wasn't enough, only Jaskier's touch would sate the fire inside. “I'm back now,” he whispered between licks, pushing as deep as his tongue would go. “And I want to give you whatever you need.”

There was lube in the bedside table (Jaskier assumed, where else would one keep lube?) but with spit running down his chin making Lambert oh so slick, there was little resistance when Jaskier slid a finger in as well. Lambert held onto the sheets like life, broken moans and cries loud enough for the others to hear. Jaskier loved it. He wanted the world to hear of Lambert's pleasure, know how well he took care of his Witchers...

After a few fluttery clenches almost pushed his tongue out, Jaskier pulled back, keeping his finger in place gently massaging Lambert's prostate. “Do you want to come in your new shorts?”

“Oh, fuck yes I do.”

Jaskier got back to work, sliding a second finger in along side his tongue. Lambert thrust against the bed a few times before moaning loud, hole clenching down on Jaskier's fingers. Jaskier stroked him through the orgasm, only stopping when the shivers looked more pain than pleasure. He stayed close, lips and teeth gently nipping at Lambert's exposed cheeks. “I'd like to fuck you. And I'd like you to stay in these.” He dragged a finger around the edges of the slit, barely brushing quivering skin. “I want them soaking with your come.”

“Oh fuck, Jaskier, the things you say...” He gave a weak nod and readjusted on the bed, groaning at the way his cock fucking dripped with his own spend. “Yes, do anything. Whatever you want from me.”

Jaskier took another moment to rub his new silk against Lambert before shucking the pajamas. They were nice, but he didn't want to ruin them with a too enthusiastic thrust. Lube liberated from the bedside drawer, Jaskier took his time easing three fingers into Lambert's hole, the thumb of his other hand teasing up and down his cheeks, feather light touches to make him moan and tremble. He remembered a fair bit about Witcher stamina and since Lambert already came once, Jaskier would definitely come before him. Well, that wouldn't do at all, so even though his own cock jerked and throbbed for attention, Jaskier took the time to push Lambert to the edge again, getting them both good at worked up.

The moment he sank in, they both cried out in bliss. “Geralt I'm fucking fine, go away!” Lambert growled out at one point. Jaskier figured he heard the other Witcher outside the door, probably worried about the feral fucking growls and moans they were bringing out in one another. Jaskier didn't have Lambert's good ears, and even if he did, Geralt wasn't the object of his attention right now—he focused completely on Lambert, making sure to wring every last drop of pleasure out of him.

His hole fluttered around Jaskier's cock, pulling him over. He bit down on the thick muscle of Lambert's shoulder, leaving a deep mark that might last until morning. As the last shivers of his orgasm subsided, Jaskier pulled out and lay across Lambert's back, running a soothing hand across sweaty skin. “How do you feel, my wolf? You came in your new shorts so many times...”

“Uh, fuck,” Lambert groaned. He rolled his hips a little, leading to more oversensitive shivers. “Fuck, Jaskier, you made me so filthy. I love it.”

“Good.” Breath slowed to normal, Jaskier helped Lambert up, stripping the absolutely sodden briefs down his legs. “Fuck,” he gasped. “You weren't kidding.” With come smeared all over Lambert's legs, Jaskier resisted the urge to lick it off. They were both done for now, and Jaskier still had some caring left to do.

Retrieving a wet cloth from the bathroom, Jaskier knelt next to Lambert and gently cleaned the remaining mess from his skin, rolling him over and seeing to more delicate areas. “I'm a Witcher,” he remembered Lambert telling him so very long ago, “You don't need to be so tender with me.”

“Just because you don't _need_ tenderness doesn't mean you don't deserve it,” he remembered replying back then.

Thankfully, this Lambert didn't scoff at a little aftercare, and once they were relatively clean, he let Jaskier settle next to him and wrap him up. Throwing both arms and one leg over him, they dozed together until Eskel's shout of “Dinner!” roused them again.

Before they were dressed and left the cocoon of the room, Jaskier ran the backs of his knuckles over Lambert's cheek. “I remember, in the old days, sometimes Geralt and Eskel watched us. Is that something you'd like again?”

Lambert's lips turned down in thought. “I just got you back. Maybe someday we can do that again, but I think I want to keep this between us for a while.”

After dinner and desert, Jaskier showed them all the silk pajama bottoms. They spent the bulk of the night wrapped around him, running hands and cocks over him. None of them had any right to look that good rutting against his thigh or his ass. When they were all exhausted, Jaskier chose to spend the night in Lambert's bed. It was right next door to Geralt's room, so Lambert could still hear them when he and Eskel wanted private time, but the choice of bed was significant. Jaskier belonged with all of them, not just Geralt.

With the large cat of a man purring on his chest, Jaskier released a deep sigh of satisfaction. It had been seven hundred years for them, the blink of an eye for him. And yet, they all still fit together in the same patterns. Jaskier's worries slowly started to slip away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an example of the shorts he bought for Lambert:
> 
> Once I got the idea in my head of Jaskier buying sexy underwear for Lambert, it would not leave, so there will be lots of sexy underwear in this fic. I don't think anyone minds. No lingerie, I know that's a fan favorite, but it's not my style.
> 
> As for the cuffs: yes, I'm borrowing from existing leather culture, but as far as having a special one for sessions, that's not an established "thing" I'm aware of, I just know people who do that, have something special for playtime that's fancier than their everyday stuff.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier tried to call his family once a week. Just because he now had two lives in his head and memories of an unforgiving and cruel family didn't mean he discarded his current family. In fact, it made him appreciate them all the more. The first Jaskier set out into the world because he felt he had no one, and finding new friends was better than being alone. Little did he know he'd stumble on a whole den of wolves and a destiny besides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I'd show Jaskier reconnecting with all of them, and now it's Geralt's turn. Also a little family fluff with Jaskier's human family.
> 
> Please enjoy, let me know if you find a typo and it'll be seen to <3

A campfire crackled between them. It was the part of summer that was far too hot for a camp fire, but there were too many bugs to go without. Jaskier stripped his doublet and opened his shirt as far as it would go before discarding it an hour ago. Geralt glanced at him every once in a while, and while he appreciated the attention, that was not his goal tonight.

Though he loved his lute, the heavy wooden instrument was too much for him as well, the thought of the heated wood against his already burning skin... no thank you. Jaskier searched in their bags for a bottle of wine or spirit, something to distract him from the intolerable heat. “You sure there isn't a stream nearby?” he grumbled, fingers closing on a bottle. At least the glass was a little cool.

“Not for miles.” Geralt ditched his shirt before Jaskier did, his oh so fine chest on display as he made their camp, muscles flexing and dripping with sweat. It truly was a testament to the ungodly heat of the night that Jaskier didn't jump on him the second those glorious shoulders appeared. “Thought you'd appreciate sitting under shady trees rather than trudging through the hot sun for longer.”

“You are correct, my dear Witcher.” Jaskier took a drink from the wine and offered the bottle to Geralt. It wasn't the best wine, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He was surprised they had any left. Geralt didn't like carrying too much alcohol with them. “Liquid is fucking heavy, Jaskier,” he liked to grumble.

Jaskier finished off the bottle and while he was still hot as all blazes, he didn't care as much. “You know what would be great right now?”

“Peace and quiet?” Geralt asked for that all the time. Almost twenty years and Jaskier hadn't given it yet, why would he start now?

“Some Cintrin Ale,” Jaskier continued like Geralt held up his end of the conversation and asked for more detail. “Say what you will about Queen Calanthe and her bullish nature, her brewers know what they're doing.”

Geralt sat up, turning his face away from Jaskier. “I don't want to talk about Cintra.”

Jaskier didn't know if it was the heat or the wine—he revisited this conversation many times over the years and never came up with a satisfying answer—but he groaned loudly, pushing himself back to a sitting position. “Are you still sore about that?”

“Yes,” Geralt hissed between his teeth. “Drop it.”

“Are you telling me, you haven't been back to Cintra at all? They have monsters too, Geralt, just because they also have things you want to avoid doesn't mean all the beasts disappeared.” Geralt didn't answer, just stared into the fire, jaw tight. “You're not the least bit curious about her? Your Child Surprise?” A muscle in Geralt's cheek jumped and Jaskier knew he should back off, but he couldn't... “Well, she's a girl, for one thing. A little girl. Beautiful ash blonde hair, almost white in fact. She fucking looks like you, Destiny can't scream much louder than that.”

Geralt surged to his feet, glaring down at Jaskier. “Destiny is bullshit. Witchers are bound to nothing, that is our lot in life—soldiers of no affiliation.”

“Then why did you ask for the Law of Surprise?” Jaskier staggered to his feet, a little woozy from the wine. Or the heat, he wasn't sure which. “You knew Pavetta wasn't a virgin, you had to! I spotted it at thirty paces.”

“Not all of us are adept at deflowering virgins, I don't know how to look for them,” Geralt growled. “It's fucking Witcher tradition. How else do you think we gathered recruits? In the chaos of it all I fell back to bad habits.”

While Jaskier always wondered how Witchers claimed children, this wasn't the revelation he wanted. He wasn't sure what he wanted in the first place, but now that he got Geralt talking about his Child Surprise, he wasn't going to stop. “You're all about duty and obligation to the Continent and tradition—yes, I actually pay attention to Vesemir's lectures—and when pressed, you fall back on tradition. Yet you refuse to acknowledge Destiny? That's not just contrary, that's stupid.”

“Why? Why do you care about my Destiny? Or my Child Surprise? Why is that any concern of yours?” Geralt's chest heaved with the effort to control himself. Shouting at Jaskier in the middle of the forest didn't seem very controlled, but it was better than strangling Jaskier in the middle of the forest.

“Because I've seen her!” Jaskier shouted. “I go back every few years and perform in Calanthe's court, usually for her grand daughter's birthday. She's beautiful, and she lost her fucking parents some years ago. She has another! She has you, but you won't fucking own up to it! Do you even know her name?”

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut. “No,” he whispered, all the anger and bluster gone.

“Do you want to?” Jaskier's anger cooled. Part of him didn't know what brought it on, and another part knew all too well.

Geralt shook his head. “She doesn't need a monster like me in her life.”

“No, but she needs a good man, and you are the best man I know, Geralt.”

They stood in silence for another moment before Geralt slammed down onto his bedroll, turning away from Jaskier. “Good night,” he said in a way that ended the conversation.

Jaskier sighed and climbed into his own bedroll. It was too hot to share tonight, not matter how much he wanted to touch Geralt and apologize for the argument. “Good night, Geralt. See you in the morning.”

The next morning, Jaskier woke to find Geralt gone. This happened sometimes, didn't mean he liked it. They found each other again a few months later and things were back to normal. Jaskier knew better than to mention Geralt's Child Surprise. Then, they went on a dragon hunt.

* * *

Jaskier's eyes flew open and a shiver ran through him. The heavy arm across his hips tightened and pulled him closer. He looked to see Eskel dead asleep and smiled softly. Even in sleep, the protective instincts of his wolves could not be matched. He took a moment to look upon Eskel and Lambert, calming his mind. After an intense memory made itself known, Jaskier liked to remind himself that those so long ago moments were there to fill in the knowledge of his life, not make him feel guilty for the sins and slights of that life.

As he cast his eyes around, one partner was very clearly missing from the bed, the one he most wanted to see at the moment. Jaskier slipped out from under Eskel's arm without disturbing their sleep and pulled on his black silk robe and pajama pants. After they discovered the delights of Jaskier's new silks, more appeared practically over night. It started with a few more pairs of pajamas, then silk boxers, and finally three silk robes, one from each of them. Jaskier was a little uncomfortable being _kept_ like this, but he supposed he had to get used to it. The look of pure bliss as the silk slid under their fingers, Jaskier's skin hot below, was worth every blow to his pride.

Feet bare, silky robe whispering around him as he walked, Jaskier set out to look for his escaped wolf. The heat of summer had cooled to autumn and he gathered the robe around him, the thin silk helping a little. While he knew the house pretty well by now, Jaskier put a hand on the wall to guide himself down the hall, careful where he put his feet so he didn't stub his toe and wake everyone up.

The soft glow of a small lamp radiated from the library. At least, Jaskier thought it was a library. There was a desk for Eskel, who used it as a study, and he frequently found Geralt sprawled across the couch with one of their many books in his hands. But there were books in every room of this place and the only clearly identified rooms were the kitchen and the many, many well appointed bathrooms. The whole house was basically a reading nook with a pool table and garden bathhouse.

Jaskier walked into the library and leaned against the door frame. Two golden eyes shined up at him, reflecting the light like a cat. “What are you doing up?” Geralt said, voice low. He had one of their many photo albums open across his lap. Jaskier loved looking at those albums, seeing the men he loved so dearly marching through time, only their clothing, hair, and the scenery changing. His favorite album was the one where Lambert had a red mohawk and Geralt glared at him in every picture. And yet, he hated those photos as well for the same reason. With each passing year, they stayed the same... forever. And he would not.

He shook the thought from his mind and walked closer, stopping next to Geralt's bare leg and brushing him with the silk. None of them owned pajamas of any sort and Jaskier wasn't sure Geralt had even owned underwear for the past eight hundred years. Looked like he nicked a pair of Eskel's boxers and one of Lambert's cleaner t-shirts, as all of Geralt's t-shirts had engine grease on them from the Scout.

He stroked his hand up the top of Geralt's thigh, the soft hair pleasant against his skin. “I might ask you the same question.”

Geralt closed the photo album and set it aside, pulling Jaskier into his lap. “It's hard to live for so long and not have a few ghosts haunting your head. Just one of those nights.” He nudged Jaskier with his forehead against his shoulder. “Your turn.”

Jaskier's mouth went dry, the words stuck in his throat. “I had, a... a memory. Not the best.” A little over two months at Corvo Bianco, and over half of Jaskier's old life had fit itself into place. Some came in dreams, some sparked by familiar objects. Songs poured into his head every time he touched his lute, and whenever he ran his fingers across Lambert's wrists, a new facet of their alone time resurfaced.

But it wasn't all sex and drinking and singing. Jaskier was a man of emotion, now and back then, and his heart ached with each angry word they ever spat at one another. He leaned closer to Geralt, trying to ask without words, _hold me_. Geralt responded, wrapping his arms around Jaskier's hips and pulling him into his lap. He rubbed their noses together. “Jaskier...”

With the soft utterance of his name, the gravely voice he'd heard so many times over so many years but was still brand new to his ears, the dam burst and tears rolled down his cheeks. “We had a fight. I woke up the next morning and you were gone—then _I_ woke up and you were still gone.” He buried his face in Geralt's neck, muffling his sobs and staining the shirt with his tears. “We fought so much, Geralt. You left me behind so many times, I thought I'd never see you again... Even when it was good and we were back at Kaer Morhen with Ciri, whenever I fell asleep, I was so afraid you'd be gone in the morning.”

Rubbing a soothing hand over Jaskier's back, Geralt waited for him to cry it out. He remembered every argument they'd ever had, so Geralt fully intended to wait until sunrise if necessary. He was... not a nice partner, some days. Mostly, it was because he was too stupid to understand that Jaskier was his partner, not just a good friend he liked to fuck that hung around all winter. By the time Geralt came to his senses and recognized the worth and value of Jaskier's love, Jaskier was mature enough to forgive him his stupidity. This Jaskier, not even twenty years old, still had to mature into that man who could call Geralt a jackass and walk away until they both cooled off.

After a few minutes, Jaskier's crying slowed, then stopped. He tried to pull away but Geralt held him close. “I'm sorry,” he said. “It was so many life times ago, I'm not that person anymore, but I'm sorry all the same.”

Jaskier sniffed. “I don't want to hold you to an unreasonable standard... it's all still fresh for me, like we fought last night before bed. I keep thinking you're going to run away again. Part of me has thought that since the moment I first started remembering.”

The knife of his past sins twisted a little more in Geralt's gut. He rubbed Jaskier's back, large, slow circles, anything to bring some calm. “What can I do to make it better?”

Jaskier leaned back and let Geralt wipe the tears from his eyes before whispering, “Tell me about your daughter.”

“You were the first person to tell me she was beautiful,” Geralt began. “I think that planted the seed. I knew I had to see her. And when I did—you were right. She was so beautiful, like fire made flesh.” Once Geralt started, he couldn't stop. He told story after story—Jaskier meeting Ciri properly for the first time, her spark of recognition that he'd played at her grandmother's court. He was the only one to treat her like a high born lady even after she lapsed into the ways of Witchers, drinking with Lambert, playing cards with Eskel, and wrestling half drunk when Geralt wasn't there to make them behave better. The comradery and the love, the anguish and heart break as they lost her again and again before finding her and reuniting, so much ruin and death between them, but their family remained strong.

Geralt would've talked himself hoarse if he didn't feel Jaskier drooping against him, delicate snores whispering across his neck. With an armful of former bard, Geralt made his way back upstairs to bed.

Sunrise was still a few hours off but Eskel began to stir the second Geralt entered the bedroom. “Problems?” he mumbled. He took Jaskier from Geralt's arms and stripped his pajamas, then tucked him in between himself and Lambert while Geralt took off his borrowed clothes.

“Dreams. Memories filling themselves in. They're not all happy.” Skin bare, he climbed in bed and pushed Lambert and Jaskier between him and Eskel. Lambert stirred just enough to wrap his arms around Jaskier and settle back to sleep.

Eskel's eyes bored into him and Geralt moved closer. With Lambert holding Jaskier practically on top of himself, it was easy for Geralt to lay one heavy arm across them and waggle his fingers for Eskel. A hand so similar to his took up the invitation and twined their fingers together. They gazed at each other until the sun rose and Lambert started to wake. Jaskier, needing more rest as both a human and a young adult at that, slept on.

“Do you want me to take him next door?” Lambert rasped, voice rough with sleep. “Usually, when you two have _that_ look, I need to move out for a few weeks.”

Eskel chuckled and rubbed his nose into Lambert's shoulder. “No need for that. Jaskier had some new memories and Geralt feels guilty. I'm reminding him that time has passed, Jaskier forgave you once, he'll forgive you again.”

“Already have.” Eyes opening unevenly, Jaskier rolled out of Lambert's arms, on top of Geralt's chest. “Seven hundred years, you think I haven't learned to forgive you.”

While still half asleep, Jaskier's cock had other ideas. Eyes falling closed, he mouthed at Geralt's neck and thrust feebly against his thigh. With a deep chuckle that poured down his back like warm water, Geralt pulled Jaskier in tight, back to his chest. One hand tweaked a nipple, bringing it to a stiff peak, and the other drifted down to lightly stroke his cock. Jaskier shuddered, leaning back into the blazing warmth behind him.

Lambert slid away into Eskel's arms, both sitting back to give Geralt a moment, but also watching with hungry eyes. They had chores to do in the morning, projects they wanted to start on, but they were retired now, for who knows how long, they could afford to sleep in if that meant an early morning spent watching their own personal sunrise come across Geralt's hand.

Long, slow strokes from root to tip pulled groan after groan from Jaskier. His eyes were still closed, body trying to make him go back to sleep, warring with the pleasure that was so clearly winning. Dimly, he knew that he'd repay the favor later in the morning, which was the only reason Jaskier was able to give himself over without worrying what Geralt got out of this. He didn't need all the memories of his old life to know his pleasure and the pleasure of the other wolves were important to Geralt. He loved them so very deeply, even if he didn't say it often.

Balls tightening, Jaskier arched forward into the gentle but firm strokes. “Mmm, yes, oh...”

Probably through years of practice as well as unfairly fast reflexes, Geralt managed to stroke Jaskier through the end of his orgasm and catch his come, making sure none stained the sheets they were all still laying on. They'd dirtied quite a few bed sheets in the short time since Jaskier's arrival, but he was good about changing them after. Right now, he didn't think he could move, much less dress a bed.

The last thing Jaskier heard before sleep took him were the filthy slurps from Geralt's mouth as he lapped Jaskier's spend from his hand. He couldn't muster enough energy to tease him for it, he simply closed his eyes and fell back into sleep, this one calm and dreamless.

When they all woke up properly a few hours later, Jaskier took his time thanking Geralt while Lambert and Eskel took a shower. With his lips stretched wide around Geralt's formidable girth, Jaskier looked up to see two golden eyes peering down at him, love and longing radiating out at him. Jaskier sped up, licking around the head like a sweet, running his tongue up the heavy vein, sucking rhythmically until Geralt came.

He swallowed down everything and draped himself over Geralt, pressing their lips together in a spit and semen sticky kiss. When he pulled back, he looked deep into those wonderful, impossible eyes and whispered, “I forgave you so long ago. I never want to hold you to trespasses of the past, not when there's happiness to be had here and now.”

Geralt cupped the back of Jaskier's neck and pulled him closer, kissing him breathless. When Eskel and Lambert returned from their shower, Geralt dragged Jaskier to the bathroom. On his knees, he licked Jaskier's hole as the hot water poured down around them.

 _Yes,_ Jaskier thought to himself. _This was so much better than the sins of old arguments_.

* * *

Jaskier tried to call his family once a week. Just because he now had two lives in his head and memories of an unforgiving and cruel family didn't mean he discarded his current family. In fact, it made him appreciate them all the more. The first Jaskier set out into the world because he felt he had no one, and finding new friends was better than being alone. Little did he know he'd stumble on a whole den of wolves and a destiny besides.

He ended up speaking to his parents more than once a week. They wanted to know how he was, see where he was staying. After a few carefully arranged pictures of the more appropriate rooms (the pool table, the piano, the study and the lovely kitchen, not the mammoth bed with it's many implications). He took pictures on his trips into town to show them the verdant countryside of Toussaint, still lush and green in the middle of autumn.

They were so very happy for him... then they started asking him to come home for his birthday. “Just a visit!” his mother insisted. “For a weekend.”

“Mum, it'll take more than a weekend to get there.” Four days if he let Geralt speed a normal amount, maybe three if he let Geralt put his foot down while Jaskier covered his eyes the whole way. Witcher senses or not, they all drove like they wanted to get killed.

“What? The flight's only a few hours.”

“No, mum, they don't fly.”

Jaskier tried to bring it up. _Once_. “I know you have a lot of gear, but surely you could borrow some non-essentials from a local ranger when you get there? Planes carry swords all the time...” Eskel went white as a sheet and Geralt bolted from the room.

Lambert was the one to wrap his arm around Jaskier's shoulders and sit him down. “Eskel got picked up by a royal griffin when they were in training, Geralt had to go rescue him. They don't do flying. I'm not a fan either, but at least I don't have trauma about it.” The idea of any of them ever being small enough for a griffin to lift (they were strong creatures, but his Witchers were solid hunks of mountain) was dubious, but he dropped the subject.

“I'll see what I can do.” While Jaskier wanted to see his family, even a few days without the Witchers seemed a torture he did not want to endure.

He got off the phone and walked to the study, where they were all lounging together. Eskel sat at the desk pouring over renovation plans for the garage— “We need extra room for Jaskier's car,” —which probably meant they were going to buy him a car. Lambert leaned back on Geralt's chest, both of them half watching the small TV in the corner. Witchers liked Westerns, who knew?

“I have a... logistical issue,” Jaskier announced. He explained that his mum really wanted him to visit for his birthday and he wanted to discuss travel. But he didn't get much past the word “birthday” before they all flipped out.

“It's your birthday? When?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier blinked. “Uh, end of Velen.”

“Jaskier never told us his birthday. He said he wanted to remain mysterious and youthful.” With a quick roll of his eyes, Geralt pushed Lambert off his chest and headed down the hall, halfway to the stairs towards Jaskier's room. “I'll pack your things! We can start out in the morning.”

“Geralt, the thing is,” Jaskier managed to catch his arm and pull him back into the study. “I want to be there and back quick. I don't want to be away for too long. So I thought I'd fly. None of you like planes...”

Geralt smile fell a little. “I understand. You want alone time with your family.”

“No, I'd love you there as well,” Jaskier said quickly before Geralt fell too far down a hole of shame. “As far as I'm concerned, you're my family too, have been for a lot longer. The first time around, I didn't like my given family and had to make a new one.” He dragged his knuckles across Geralt's cheek and smiled when he leaned into the touch. “I like my family now, and if they want to see me for my birthday, then I want you there as well. We'll have to figure out how to get there, that's all.”

Geralt took a moment to press soft kisses all over Jaskier's face, making room when Lambert rose from the couch to do the same. Once Jaskier was breathless and a little hard, they pulled back. Eskel rose from the desk and had his turn as well, kissing Jaskier's lips rosy before pulling back. One finger tracing the swollen bottom lip, he smiled. “I think I have an idea.”

Take master strategists, give them endless resources and they'd move mountains. The plan was set: Jaskier would take a flight to see his parents and they'd all drive up, giving Jaskier a few days with his family before they arrived for a proper birthday party, then drive back down together. Not a short trip, but not too long away from their home. Jaskier confirmed the details with his mother and they were off.

Everything was the same. The diner was the same with that lovely diner smell of grease and a dozen different foods, and the small hint of the humanity that poured through their doors, hungry and exhausted, looking for a rest. His mother insisted he didn't have to work a shift, but a tour bus came through looking for directions and they got slammed with forty hungry customers all at once. Jaskier ran around, taking orders, delivering steaming plates of eggs with perfectly runny yolks, and afterwards, they all collapsed across the now empty booths, their pockets filled with the tips of a grateful nature tour group.

Then there was wandering around the fields aimlessly with his sister and her little ones, pushing them on the backyard swing set, taking them to the creak that snaked its way through their property. He returned to the house that night with an exhausted four-year-old thrown over his shoulder and for a moment, Jaskier wondered why he ever left.

The next afternoon, when the bell over the door jingled despite the “closed for private party” sign and Geralt, Lambert and Eskel walked in, Jaskier's heart stopped. _That's why you left, dummy, Destiny wanted more for you_. Without a single care to what his family might think—they should already know, to be honest, his mother wasn't shy with details—Jaskier bounded over and threw himself into Geralt's arms.

Eskel and Lambert took a step back, giving them space. He rolled his eyes and grabbed for them as well. “Come in here. I don't see you for three and a half days and you decide to be shy?” With a hand each on Eskel and Lambert, and Geralt's arms wrapped securely around him, Jaskier sighed, his family whole once again.

Eskel's lips pressed into a tight line. “Jaskier, your family, won't they—”

“Be very happy that I've found such a fulfilling relationship? Why yes, they will. My brother's wife is an elf and her family brings bows and arrows to family barbecues. They've learned to deal.”

After taking a moment to hold his mountains of men again after his absence, he dragged them around, introducing them to his mother, father, and siblings. Properly this time, renting a room in the B&B and getting half involved in a shouting match did not count. His father stayed behind his mother's shoulder, watching her interact as always. Rodger de Stael was the town handyman and part time mayor. He got his fill being in charge from answering resident complaints and needs, and let his wife handle their businesses.

He watched his youngest son lean into the Witchers, twine their fingers together before reaching for another one. All three of them then, that was... something. He caught his son's eye while Eskel chatted about recent renovations to Corvo Bianco, and arched an eyebrow. _Are you safe? Are you happy?_ Jaskier nodded in return, then cast his eyes to Lambert, fidgeting anxiously behind Geralt.

“There's Destiny in that one,” Jaskier's gran always said. She was the one who showed her daughter-in-law the old journals. “Jaskier's an adorable name, means buttercup, it fits with the others.” Well, Destiny came in the form of three Witchers. Rodger de Stael wasn't sure how he felt about that.

The party was mostly family and after the novelty of the Witchers wore off, food appeared and the chatter started. Cousins pulled Jaskier here and there, asking for pictures, stories, anything of his travels. “You went to Aretuza?” one of his little nieces squealed. “Were all the sorceresses very beautiful?”

“The few I saw yes, very beautiful indeed. With shimmering hair and glittering eyes. One had a long blue train that flowed after her like the waves breaking on the shore...”

While Jaskier entertained, Geralt plunked down in his preferred booth at the back, followed quickly by Eskel and Lambert. “Families,” Lambert grunted. “Remember those?” They all grumbled in reply. Just like he was the only one with an actual house, Geralt was the only one who truly had a family—a real one, not broken pieces found and pushed together—and he was more than happy to share it with his brothers in arms, the only family he'd had before he gained a daughter.

The diner was packed with brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, along with a few auburn-haired children with eerie green eyes and pointed ears. They all sat back and had a good long stare as Jaskier ran around to child after child, singing whatever song they requested of him, telling any tale, spinning them so fast their little heads bobbled. Lambert leaned his arm on the back of the booth, chin in his hand, smiling like a loon. Geralt stole the chance to lean into Eskel and a heavy arm settled behind his shoulders across the top of the booth.

Jaskier's father set his eyes on them and crossed the party, coming to a stop next to the table full of Witcher. Lambert straightened up and Geralt leaned away from Eskel. He nodded at the seat next to Lambert. “May I join you?”

“Please. It's your establishment,” Eskel said. He was better with words than the rest of them, he still knew how to be nice.

Rodger de Stael sat, nodding again to Lambert. “I'm not here to threaten. What kind of idea is that? Threatening the last three Witchers on the Continent? I'd be mad.” He chuckled a little to himself. “No, uh, I want to ask about your house. Geralt, is it?”

“Yes, it is.” Eskel nudged him under the table. “Sir.”

He laughed again, a full belly laugh. His eyes sparkled the same way Jaskier's did. “Damn near immortals calling me sir, who would have thought?” He calmed his laughter again and tried to fix Geralt with a serious gaze. “This house. It's safe? A good place for him to be? No creatures or monsters about?”

“Yes,” Geralt said. “We're retired for now. No more creatures or monsters for a good while. He'll be safe.”

Tension deflated out of Rodger's shoulders. “That's good to hear. I won't bother you any more.” He stood up, but lingered by the table for a moment longer. “My mother, Jaskier's gran, always thought there was something special about him. Something more. Whether that's you lot or not, I'm not sure, but as long as you keep him safe, I don't care who he fucks.”

He walked away from the table, leaving them all wide-eyed and feeling a little awkward. “One thing's for sure, he's definitely Jaskier's father,” Lambert said. A moment later, Jaskier floated over to them with large plates of food and they all decided not to mention it.

Cake was served, Jaskier made sure Geralt, Eskel and Lambert got pieces before the children devoured the whole thing. “More ravenous than wolves, my family,” he joked. As the party wound down and family members started to leave, they all came over to the table with three scary Witchers. They kissed Jaskier goodbye and told him to be safe, some nodding politely to Geralt, Eskel and Lambert, some merely acknowledging their presence. No one flat out ignored them. Which was... new.

That night, Jaskier refused his mother's offer of a guest bedroom and said they'd sleep in the Scout. “Your house is full to bursting, there's little room for them, and I told Jasper he and the kids could have my room. We've camped out before, it won't be any trouble.” Jaskier really didn't want to be in his mother's house with the three people he missed more than life, because he didn't want to risk getting caught letting them fuck him. It was like high school all over again, sneaking boys and girls out through the back door of the house before his mother saw them.

They didn't all fit in the back of the Scout, but Eskel offered to stand guard outside in case a family member came by while Jaskier's ankles were behind his head. They couldn't do much, but it was enough to sate Jaskier after three days away. The next morning, they drove out with Eskel and Jaskier asleep in the back, Geralt and Lambert taking the driving in shifts.

As they drove away from his biological family, a new sort of happiness spread through Jaskier. They were safe and settled in Upper Posada, secure with the diner and the B&B. He didn't need to worry about them anymore. Whatever else life had in store for him, they were fine, and he could focus on continuing the life of Julian Alfred Pankratz, better known as Jaskier the Bard of Kaer Morhen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.I know in the show, Geralt thought his child surprise was a boy until Mousesack told him she was a girl, but I forgot about that and once I had Jaskier telling Geralt about Ciri, I decided to keep it.  
> 2\. I don't know if Witchers would have any phobias or fears, but putting them on a plane seems... too much of a stretch. For me. This is where the same vibe from Supernatural comes in, they don't fly, they drive.  
> 3\. I hate the elven calendar in the Witcher. Yule and Belleteyn make sense, but all the other seasons are weird. I've never given Jaskier a set birthday in any of my fics because "third of Yule" or whatever sounds weird. His birthday is like the middle of autumn, for sake of the timeline.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whenever he went to town, Jaskier couldn't stop himself bringing gifts back for his wolves. He never knew what to bring for Eskel. He was the hardest to pin down. What to get the man who loved books, but already owned every book in creation. Most of the time, Jaskier gave Eskel whatever sweet he bough for Geralt, which made them happy, but his desire to find something special was never truly quelled. He hadn't figured Eskel out yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic grew again. As I was proofing this chapter to post, I realized it was really long, and had a good transition point in the middle... these are things that only I care about, but there it is. This is also Eskel's chapter reconnecting with Jaskier, so I really hope people enjoy that :)
> 
> All mistakes are mine, let me know if you find a typo and it'll be taken care of. Thank you and enjoy <3

Toussaint was almost too beautiful for its own good. Every morning, Jaskier woke up and donned one of his silk robes, making his way out to the bathhouse. With the beautiful weather, the thin garment was enough to protect him from the small nip of wind he felt between the back door of the manor, and the front door of the baths. He was quick, and never got too cold. Until one morning when he opened the back door and an icy blast of wind shriveled his cock and balls down to nothing.

Shrieking, Jaskier slammed the door closed and ran back to the bedroom, burying himself in his pile of Witchers once again. Cold toes prodded at them all, stirring them awake. Lambert hissed at Jaskier suddenly stealing his warmth, Eskel groaned and Geralt rolled his eyes. “I see the cold started.”

Cold was an understatement. Despite the still green fields, an icy wind ripped through the valley, freezing Jaskier whenever he merely thought of going outside. “Rain turns to slush, little lark,” Eskel mumbled and pulled Jaskier close. “We'll get you more warm clothes. Now go back to sleep.”

Jaskier insisted on making trips to town by himself. The heavy black card in his wallet was enough of their presence as it was, he didn't want to think they were picking out his clothes as well as paying for them. Geralt continued to insist that it was the first Jaskier's business sense that landed them the seed of their money, so he had a rightful share. It wasn't the most compelling argument and Jaskier's fingers still shook whenever he handed over the card with his name on it to a slightly incredulous shop worker.

Whenever he went to town, Jaskier couldn't stop himself bringing gifts back for his wolves. Toys and sexy underwear for Lambert, sweets for Geralt, and... he never knew what to bring for Eskel. He was the hardest to pin down. What to get the man who loved books, but already owned every book in creation. Most of the time, Jaskier gave Eskel whatever sweet he bough for Geralt, which made them happy, but his desire to find something special was never truly quelled. He hadn't figured Eskel out yet...

After buying a large wool coat, two pairs of boots, several fluffy cardigans, and a new fleecy robe, Jaskier had half a mind to check the sex shop, but it didn't feel quite right for Eskel. He already resigned himself to filling Lambert's room with toys, “We never had anything like this before,” was his defense. While he was nineteen, Jaskier was only human, and some nights, Lambert just needed far more than his cock could give. He had a few lovely textured toys to stimulate different areas, along with a vibrating plug or two, nothing extravagant, but more than enough to satisfy his sometimes insatiable wolf. Together with all the sexy backless underwear Jaskier liked (for one thing, Lambert's ass was too fine to cover up, for another, the easy access was great) Lambert was well spoiled. Geralt was already packing on a little winter weight from all the cakes and cookies Jaskier brought home. He really, _really_ wanted to spoil Eskel as well.

Though he knew Eskel had every book in the whole wide world, Jaskier walked down to the bookshop anyway to see if anything jumped out at him. He perused the shelves, nothing catching his eye... With a deep sigh, he hung his head and turned to go. It was a stupid idea anyway, get him a book, he already had a thousand books, more probably.

Too busy chastising himself for his own stupidity, Jaskier half collided with the shop keeper on his way to the door. “Oh, sorry,” he said.

The older man took a step back and straightened his glasses. “No trouble. Can I help you find something?”

Jaskier bit his lip. An expert opinion might help... “Uh, maybe. I'm looking for a gift for my partner. He likes books and enjoys reading, but he already has so many.”

The man nodded, narrowing his eyes in that knowing way. Shop keepers saw it all. “Ah yes, the curse of the bookworm. What does he like?”

“History, I think?” Except maybe not, history might be boring to read about after you'd lived through it all. “He has a collection of old manuscripts passed down from a relative, he spends a lot time preserving those.” Jaskier thought. What else did Eskel do around the house now that they were retired?

Whenever he couldn't find Eskel in the library or the vaults under the house, he was in what Geralt lovingly referred to as the armory. He had it all: a forge, a work bench, every blacksmith tool under the sun. Jaskier had seen Eskel working with black leather, and Geralt mentioned that he and Eskel liked to use the old methods to produce some School of the Wolf armor “once every few decades.” Apparently, the urge just hit them and they had to spend a winter reviving their old kit. There were more than a few sets gathering dust in the bedroom Eskel didn't use, along with the garage.

Jaskier bit down on his tongue. “He likes making historical armor. As a hobby.”

The man's eyes lit up. “Oh, interesting. I might have just the thing. Follow me.” He turned passed the end of the shelf of romance novels and Jaskier followed.

They went deeper and deeper into the bookshop until they came to a door marked _private_. He pulled a key from his pocket. “I'll just be a minute.” Jaskier waited patiently and the man returned with a lovely leather bound volume in his hands. He opened up the cover and old, very familiar sketches met his eyes. They were his, or copies of his... or, the first Jaskier's.

“Not sure if you know this,” the man said, flipping through the pages. “But the last remaining Witchers live in this area. We get people in all the time asking if we know anything—they're very private men, keep to themselves—so I try to have a few good books in. This is a reproduction of drawings of their old armor. All the schools I believe...” He flipped through more pages and memories started flowing behind Jaskier's eyes.

Sitting by a stream while Geralt bathed, his armor abandoned on the bank. Jaskier leaned over his journal and grabbed a pauldron for inspection. “What are you doing?” Geralt called. He had his back to Jaskier, but Witchers had more senses than most and Geralt's all seeing nature stopped bothering him years ago.

“I'm sketching!” he called back. “I asked Vesemir, apparently no one's put any actual diagrams of Wolf School armor onto paper. You all keep it in your heads, where it will do absolutely no good to anyone.”

Geralt shook himself like a dog and emerged from the stream. With the afternoon sun at a low angle, the light radiated off his wet body, making him almost glow. Jaskier's mouth went dry and it took him a moment to collect his thoughts again. “Who else would need such knowledge?” Geralt asked, pulling the pauldron from Jaskier's fingers.

Jaskier grabbed it back and finished the final few lines of his sketch. “I don't know? Ciri maybe? If she finds herself in need of a replacement and too far away from the Kaer Morhen armory.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and got dressed, which really was a waste. If Jaskier decided to move the journal on his lap, he'd see what that naked body did to a poor bard. “I think you're wasting your time. No one cares about our methods except us.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together. “Well, I do. What happens when Vesemir dies and takes all this knowledge with him?”

“Eskel will take over.” Geralt said the words with such clarity, Jaskier almost believed it was a set plan. But Witchers didn't plan for the future like that, given their long lives, it was difficult to get them to agree to any long term planning. But it felt right, as soon as Geralt said it. Yes, after Vesemir's death—may it be many decades away—Eskel would take over the School of the Wolf. Sure, it was only the three of them and Ciri, not much of a school, but they needed someone to guard Kaer Morhen, keep all that knowledge safe.

Jaskier withdrew from the memory and looked at the book in the shop keeper's hands. “I'll take it.”

When he was almost home, Jaskier peered over at his packages. His clothes, a present for Lambert (deep maroon boxer briefs with the word _bitch_ around the waistband, not all sexy underwear needed to leave his ass hanging out) a small cheesecake for Geralt, and Eskel's book... which Jaskier already had doubts on. Once he got back to the car, he had another look at it. It wasn't just drawings of Wolf armor, but Griffin, Cat, Bear, even Viper. Jaskier remembered drawing each sketch, it took him years, hounding Lambert, Aiden and Coën for details on their armor. One day, he pinned poor Coën in the hall before training and stripped him of his gambeson, searching out any hidden insignia Witcher craftsmen liked to add in strange places.

As Jaskier looked at the drawings, his frown deepened. Was this a present for Eskel, or a present for him? _His_ drawings, _his_ old obsession with chronicling Witchers... He closed the book and returned it to the bag, heading inside. No going back now.

“I'm home!” he called and all three of them emerged from their corners. Lambert's eyes immediately went to the plain little bag from the sex shop. He licked his lips. “It's nothing fancy,” Jaskier said. He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “But, I'd like to see you walking the house wearing them...” Eskel and Geralt always gave them space when they heard Jaskier using _that_ tone of voice, but it only took one look at their hungry eyes raking over Lambert and his new gift to make Jaskier think: maybe it was time to start involving them again. If Lambert was amenable, of course.

Lambert retreated into his room to put the present away and Jaskier gave Geralt the cheesecake box. “It's a personal cake, you don't have to share this time.” With a very wet kiss, Geralt took the cake box to the kitchen, leaving only Eskel.

After greeting Jaskier with a brush of lips against his neck, Eskel turned to go back to his work. “Wait.” Jaskier caught his wrist, tugging him back. “I have something... for you.” One eyebrow arched and Eskel stayed put. Flustered now under that heavy gaze, Jaskier grabbed for the book, presenting it without fanfare. “Here. I, uh, found it in a book shop.” _Of course you did, it's a book_. “I know you have every book in the world, but it caught my eye.”

With a small smile on his lips and all the patience of a saint, Eskel opened the cover, leafing slowly through the pages. “They're my sketches,” Jaskier whispered. “I remember drawing them. It came back to me as soon as I saw them. I thought maybe, you might not have this one...” Eskel said nothing and Jaskier's lips continued moving. “I know what Lambert and Geralt like, and I feel like, after all these years, I'm finally catching up to them again. But you... you've always been a mystery. I know you don't need gifts or whatever, but I so want to catch up with you again, Eskel.”

Book in one hand, Eskel tangled their fingers together. “Come with me.”

He followed Eskel outside and almost stopped to grab his coat, but Eskel pulled him close, the bonfire of his body radiating through Jaskier's shirt, keeping him toasty warm until they got through the door to the underground climate controlled storage. Eskel led him to the vault at the end, holding his hands tight to his sides to avoid brushing anything. They were mostly his belongings, and Eskel said he had a right to anything... but this was Eskel's life work, preserving Jaskier's life work. He wasn't about to step all over that like an ungrateful ass.

Eskel gently placed the new book in the center of the work table and turned to the shelves, quickly finding the correct one. He removed one of the storage bins and put it carefully on the table. Donning white gloves, he opened the bin and removed an acid free sheet protector containing a few crumpled fragments of parchment. Placing it on the table, he gestured for Jaskier to inspect.

The parchment was old, but the details were fresh in Jaskier's mind. Sketches of a sword matched the reproductions in the book. Before Jaskier had time to doubt his present, Eskel spoke. “This vault is the largest collection of manuscripts and objects from Jaskier, also known as Julian Alfred Pankratz. The few journals you brought me, they're what are known as composition books, and they were the few I was missing. That means you had the third largest collection. The second largest collection is in the Oxenfurt library, and those fuckers have been denying my requests for study for decades. They've become very jealous with their collections, and haven't shared their knowledge in so very long. These fragments,” he pointed to the crumpled sketch in its protective sheet, “were the only bits I had of your drawings. Oxenfurt got the rest.” He pressed his lips into a line. “Funny really, they wanted your songs, I wanted your sketches, neither of us is willing to trade.”

Checking to make sure all objects were safe on the table, Eskel walked around, pulling Jaskier in close. Their lips met and Jaskier's heart skipped a beat. No matter how many times any of his wolves kissed him, memories of their first kisses flared behind his eyes—he and Eskel warm in Geralt's room, Geralt lounging across the bed, waiting for them to join. While the assault of his past memories was sometimes a little jarring, Jaskier didn't know if he'd want this memory to stop reasserting itself. Full lips slid against his and Jaskier leaned in to Eskel's broad chest, strong arms wrapping tight around him and squeezing just hard enough.

When Eskel broke the kiss, he stayed close, resting their foreheads together. “Oxenfurt Academy won't let me see these sketches, and now you've brought them all to me.”

“Copies,” Jaskier said weakly. They all made him so very weak...

Eskel smiled, kissing up his jaw, breath ghosting down his neck. “It doesn't matter. First, you bring me a small part of the collection that was missing, and now you bring me memories. Thank you.” He kissed Jaskier again, licking into his mouth so deep, Jaskier almost stopped breathing. Eskel nibbled at his lips, the soft skin plumping up as blood rushed, getting soft and oh so sensitive. “I know you like spoiling the others,” Eskel whispered. “But all I need is you.”

Removing the white gloves, Eskel's hand moved under Jaskier's shirt, stroking his back, raising goosebumps wherever he touched. Jaskier moaned into his lips and thrust against his thigh, cock hard and wanting. Eskel chuckled. “I've got to put all this away. Wait for me in my room?”

“Yes.” Jaskier bit his lips one more time before running up to the house. He didn't feel the cold wind this time, his skin too hot and feverish.

Up in Eskel's room—hardly used, just like the rest of the bedrooms—Jaskier quickly stripped and sprawled out onto the bed. Though there was a chill outside, the house was always the perfect temperature, and Jaskier saw no reason to hide himself under the covers. The door opened a moment later and golden eyes settled on the bed.

Eskel licked his lips and stalked over to him, like the predator they all still were. Leaning back, Jaskier presented his neck to those hungry eyes as Eskel stripped, the hard line of his cock already visible through his jeans.

While Jaskier tried to lean back and let his legs fall open, Eskel grabbed his hips, rearranging them. Sitting with his back against the pillows and Jaskier sprawled across his lap, Eskel ran his hands over creamy skin, bringing shivers wherever he touched. Jaskier closed his eyes and saw those same hands sliding over him so many centuries ago.

Yes, he remembered now, Eskel loved giving pleasure, watching Jaskier and the others come apart under his touch. Though he knew they loved him, he still had trouble seeing past his own face or believing that anyone else could. Seven hundred years and he was still fighting that battle. Jaskier made a mental note to spend the rest of the night kissing every scar Eskel had, but for now, he gave himself over to exploring hands.

The bedroom door wasn't quite closed and a white head appeared. Geralt leaned in the doorway for a moment, hand drifting down to lightly palm his cock through his jeans. “Need any help?”

“No,” Eskel mumbled into Jaskier's neck, biting down hard enough to raise a love bite. It took a few weeks, but they all got back into the habit of biting and marking him like the old days, Jaskier couldn't get enough of it. Now, they made a game of it, who was the last to mark him. Lambert always smirked when Geralt or Eskel went in for a kiss and found a new love bite that smelled like him.

“Mind if I stay?”

“As long as you're useful,” Eskel grunted.

Geralt was very useful indeed. He opened the drawer and handed them the lube that lived in every drawer of every side table in this house (Jaskier had found small bottles or sachets in some seriously suspect places... like the laundry room) leaving Eskel free to suck more bruises into Jaskier's neck, earning him a moan.

“You don't need to give us anything,” he whispered, popping open the cap and squirting a dollop across his fingers. “Not after you are the most wonderful gift we could ever receive.” Two fingers circled Jaskier's hole. “After eight hundred fucking years, Destiny finally smiled on us.” Those fingers pressed in, finding Jaskier's prostate like it was no more hidden than the nose on his face. “And I for one will spend the next decades happily enjoying that gift.”

The fingers retreated and the blunt head of a cock kissed his rim. Jaskier tried to grind down and take it all, but strong hands held firm. “Well,” he sighed. “I'm planning on spoiling you all. So you'll just have to deal with it.”

“Oh really?” Eskel pushed in a little more, listening to Jaskier's breath hitch. “You could always buy me sexy underwear like you do for Lambert.”

“Mmm, yes, you'd look fetching in a thong.”

“Sign me up,” Geralt growled. While he'd been invited to watch, he didn't dare go closer. This was Eskel's time with Jaskier and he didn't want to intrude.

With Jaskier spread across his lap, Eskel thrust up slowly, adjusting as needed until he had Jaskier speared completely. Unable to get his feet onto the bed to get better leverage, Jaskier found himself at Eskel's mercy, legs wrapped around that strong body, he tried to hold himself steady as Eskel's lazy but deep thrusts made him shake.

He leaned back, dropping onto the bed, and Eskel followed, blanketing his body over Jaskier and speeding their pace, hips snapping faster, almost pounding. Jaskier gasped, trying to fill his lungs with air only to have Eskel's massive cock shove it back out again. “Fuck,” Jaskier gasped. “I can feel you in my chest.”

Eskel dropped his head to Jaskier's shoulder and licked at sweaty skin, hips driving forward at a relentless, yet steady pace. Though he was just as broad as Geralt, there always seemed to be _more_ of Eskel. Arms like steel beams, chest like a barrel, Eskel covered every inch of Jaskier, who was not a small man. He was used to being covered by all three of them, but for Eskel to totally envelope him—wrapped around him, inside of him, smell curling through his lungs—was overwhelming in the best way. Jaskier gave up on trying to keep up and relaxed into Eskel's hold, taking every ounce of pleasure the Witcher gave him.

“Eskel... fuck yes...” Jaskier whispered into his hair. “I love you. The things you do to me... you all do to me...”

After a while, the constant pounding became too much and Jaskier shouted as he came, hands scratching Eskel's back, feet kicking. “Fuck,” he sighed again as the last few shivers rolled through him. “Just for that, I'm getting you a red jock strap. It'll look like that old codpiece you had...” Eskel simply chuckled, letting Geralt in to press kisses all over Jaskier and clean him up for round two.

Watching Geralt and Eskel wrestle on the bed—nipping and pushing, playful not harsh—reminded Jaskier of cold winter nights in their warm keep of old, Lambert dozing across his lap, Eskel and Geralt not quite finished with each other. How many times had he watched them do this? Fight like puppies before one pinned the other and took their sweet time kissing and licking scarred skin. It was as sexy as it was intimate, the softest part of his warriors, unchanged after all these years.

Between the two of them, they managed to pin Eskel to the bed easily. Geralt sat across his thighs while Jaskier made his way down his body, starting at Eskel's face. He kissed every scar he found, whispering into the skin, so soft he barely heard his own words, but he knew Eskel did. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” The tapestry of scars was so familiar, yet still so new. Jaskier spent most of his first life time learning the marks of sacrifice that adorned his Witchers, and he intended to spend this life time doing the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Yes, Toussaint is supposed to be in the south and is "warmer" than the northern end of the Continent, but rain can be cold you guys.  
> 2\. As far as Jaskier's sketches go, in TW3, there's a line about "Dandelion's etchings" which implies that he does have artistic talent. It's probably hard to make an etching on the road, so he sketches. Sketching sounds more down to earth anyway, and this Jaskier is a little more grounded than freaking Dandelion. I love that man, but boy, is he too much sometimes...  
> 3\. Eskel's red codpiece in the games is ridiculous, and you may quote me on that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more Jaskier thought about Oxenfurt and remembered the fondness he had for the campus and the town—the lectures, the library, sitting on the grass and discussing the old masters—the more he felt a hole in his soul that needed to be filled. At the very least, a curiosity to be explored. Jaskier de Stael longed to go to Oxenfurt, and Jaskier the Bard fit there, did both men together still fit? It was time to explore the other parts of his old life. If that brought him away from his Witchers... well, they'd lived apart before, and they always visited Oxenfurt when he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you smell the plot building? I can...
> 
> Please enjoy, and as usual, if you see any typos, let me know and I'll take care of it.

Though Toussaint had much milder winters than Upper Posada, Jaskier still loved his fleecy clothes. Properly outfitted for the seasons in his new home, Jaskier set about enjoying his winter. He especially enjoyed watching his wolves enjoy theirs.

Though they were retired, winter was the traditional rest time for Witchers. Small chores took up some of the morning, but afternoons were filled with movie marathons, or marathon sex, or hours long baths in the big jacuzzi tub, which then led to marathon sex.

Jaskier tried to be happy with this new bliss. He really wanted to be content, to fall back into the old patterns of life—Jaskier the Bard and his Witchers. Yet the more he fell into the easy days, the more he noticed their old patterns as well. He saw the longing looks Eskel cast towards rolling green hills, the bestiary casually left out after Geralt used it to calm his mind after a restless night of sleep. Then, there was Lambert, openly itching to take the contract posted by the town. “Locals can handle it, probably just wild dogs,” Eskel said even as he eyed the same notice. There was a reason they never stayed retired for long, they were all too restless for their own good. Jaskier remembered seeing it in the old days and he saw it now.

The final clue came when Eskel swept in close one day and dragged Jaskier to the study for an afternoon quickie on the couch. “Have you thought about Oxenfurt Academy?” he whispered into the warm skin of Jaskier's throat. “I thought you wanted to go? We have the money, we can get you there, no problem.”

“So eager to be rid of me?” Jaskier tried to distract with more kisses and a hand down the front of Eskel's pants.

“You're nineteen, you can't start your life retired.”

Hand around Eskel's thick shaft, Jaskier stopped his attempts to distract. Clearly, this conversation was happening now. “Is this because you actually want me to go to school, or because you all want to go back on The Path?”

A finger trailed down his cheek and Eskel didn't meet his eyes, deciding instead to nibble on his jaw. “It can't be both?”

Releasing Eskel's cock, Jaskier retreated to the other end of the couch and tucked himself away, staring Eskel down. “Yes, I want to go to Oxenfurt Academy. I've wanted to go all my life, but I don't want to be your kept boy. You three already pay for everything, buy me whatever I need. It's lovely at first but after a while, it turns into quite the blow to the ego. Yes, people my age should be in school, but I also need to learn how to stand on my own.” Eskel opened his mouth to argue but Jaskier silenced him with a look. “And no more of that 'we only have the money because of you,' nonsense. It doesn't go this far.”

Jaskier pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. Visions of Oxenfurt Academy flickered through his mind, walking along the shores with a pretty girl on each arm, the library, dusty old books taught by dustier old professors. “I remember... most of it. I can quote Sunder of Sodden, sing all my own songs better than I could towards the end, I know the lectures better now than the first time, it's all back fresh. Does that mean the education would be wasted? Going over the same ballads and poems again? I only have so much time with you, would going back to Oxenfurt be a waste of that time?”

Eskel wrapped around him, pulling Jaskier into his chest until he heard the slow, steady rhythm of a calm heart. “New poems have been written in the last seven hundred years, there will be more to learn. And, after so long walking this world, I've learned that nothing is ever a waste. Education doubly so. If you want to go back, go back. We will always be here.”

Jaskier didn't want to think about it anymore and Eskel seemed to understand. He let the human push him back and straddle his hips, ass grinding down on his cock. All too soon, they were naked on Geralt's very expensive leather sofa, staining it with sweat and come and neither really cared.

It took a few days for Jaskier to decide, a few days of letting old memories pour into his head to see how much he truly missed his time at Oxenfurt Academy. Jaskier more or less remembered his whole life by now, but memories made themselves known when they wanted. Visions of Valdo Marx's smug face as he was going down on Geralt were not pleasant at all.

The more he thought about Oxenfurt and remembered the fondness he had for the campus and the town—the lectures, the library, sitting on the grass and discussing the old masters—the more he felt a hole in his soul that needed to be filled. At the very least, a curiosity to be explored. Jaskier de Stael longed to go to Oxenfurt, and Jaskier the Bard fit there, did both men together still fit? It was time to explore the other parts of his old life. If that brought him away from his Witchers... well, they'd lived apart before, and they always visited Oxenfurt when he asked.

While Eskel and Geralt were ready to front the money right away, a stern glare from Jaskier stopped them in their tracks. “I don't want to be kept,” he growled. But there was no way he'd afford it on his own...

Jaskier was still forming a plan—paying them back in installments, but then he'd need a job in the first place, maybe the sex shop was hiring—when a letter arrived on Oxenfurt stationary:

_Dear Jaskier de Stael,_

_we're happy to inform you that your application as a legacy admission has been accepted. Orientation for the beginning of Spring term starts on the last day of Yule. We await your reply._

As he read the letter over, Jaskier's face got redder and redder. “Who did this?” he finally whispered, glaring at Eskel and Geralt in particular. “After I told you I'd figure it out on my own, you went behind my back? This is just like my last festival at Vizima.” Old and tired, Jaskier's voice unable to reach his highest notes anymore, all he wanted was one night with a small audience to say goodbye to his stage career, when Eskel and Geralt bribed the judges into giving him a life time achievement award. “Those are for dead people!” Jaskier shouted at them back then. “Am I fucking dead? No! I'm retiring!”

“Oh, for fuck's sake, it was me,” Lambert said. Jaskier's mouth flopped open and Lambert smirked. “How do none of you know how to use a computer? It's on the Academy's website, legacy admissions. There's no time limit, if you can prove your ancestor was a professor or a dean, you get a scholarship. I called your mum to get proof—she says hello, by the way, she wants to see you for Yule.”

With three sets of eyes on him, still staring, Lambert started to squirm. Jaskier's hot gaze combined with Geralt and Eskel was doing things to him that he couldn't afford right now, not when he had a point to make. “Oxenfurt Academy was a big part of you then and now, I don't want you to pass on the opportunity because of misplaced pride. We're not paying for it this way, you're riding your own name, not ours.”

Without a word, Jaskier handed the letter to Eskel and walked over to Lambert. Sliding a hand up his chest, his fingers touched the side of his neck, thumb resting at the hollow of his throat. Lambert sucked in a breath. Jaskier didn't... touch him like this. In front of the others. They talked about it, they did it in the old days, but _this_ man hadn't tried it... yet. He arched an eyebrow, silently asking if this course was alright, and Lambert nodded.

“Go get cleaned up,” he said, voice low but firm. “You'll find us in your room.”

Lambert nodded mutely and ran up the stairs, a little awkward due to the sudden bulge hampering his movement. Eskel and Geralt went towards the bedroom but Jaskier held up a hand. “Let me know when the shower is running.” After a moment, Eskel said as much and Jaskier rounded on them both, pulling them in with a hand on their belts. He never touched Geralt and Eskel the way he did Lambert (not unless they asked) but they had to know who was taking the lead here. “I know you used to watch us in the old days, and that's what we're doing: you watch. You don't touch him unless I tell you. You sit where I put you and stay there, clear?”

“Clear,” Geralt whispered.

They both leaned in, rubbing against Jaskier for a moment before he pushed them away. “You clean up too, and get changed into something comfortable.”

They went up the stairs and Jaskier heard another bathroom door open and close. He took a moment at the bottom of the stairs to collect himself. Putting aside the fact that he had been accepted to Oxenfurt Academy, Lambert did so without asking or talking to him about it. Most of the things they did together were soft and comforting—a hand around Lambert's throat, lightly stroking, letting him know Jaskier was there—and he rarely had the need to punish. Lambert didn't misbehave, he moved when asked, knelt where Jaskier put him, leaned his head on Jaskier's thigh as long as he was told to, never once trying to sneak a lick of the cock so near...

After, Jaskier planned to thank Lambert for his efforts, he really appreciated what he'd done, it was just the method he didn't like. If it was on their fucking website, he could've showed Jaskier instead of going behind his back. Yes, a lesson must be learned, perhaps the first lesson he and Jaskier had ever come across.

Focusing on the task at hand, Jaskier calmed himself enough to walk down the hall and into Lambert's room. He stripped down and changed into a pair of silk boxers (the black ones, Lambert liked those best) and started setting up. Usually, he took Lambert's studded cuff out of the drawer, ready to show him they were playing, but tonight called for something... special.

Lambert never needed to be restrained—he enjoyed it from time to time, but Jaskier didn't see a need for it too often. All the same, on one of his little shopping trips, Jaskier bought a set of padded cuffs with two sturdy D rings and a clip to link them together. They'd never actually hold Lambert back if he had a mind to slip them, but the Witcher was quite happy to remain where he was put until Jaskier wanted him elsewhere. Setting the cuffs out, he put a bottle of lube within easy reach. He didn't give Lambert the instruction to get dressed, because no matter how much Jaskier liked to see his ass perfectly framed as he fucked into it, tonight, he wanted Lambert stretched out naked underneath him, all that beautiful, scarred skin on display to be dirtied up good and proper.

The door opened and Geralt and Eskel stepped in. “Something comfortable” apparently meant the bright red jock Jaskier bought Eskel as mostly a joke. They all agreed, it looked like that codpiece he had so long ago, and while Eskel looked good in red, the bright color right _there_ confused them all. “It's like drawing a target on your cock,” Geralt said back then. But damn, if Eskel didn't look good in that jock...

Geralt was naked. Jaskier wasn't sure if he owned any underwear, and wasn't sure he'd buy any if Geralt seemed interested. It was a crime to cover that body. They crowded in close enough to feel Jaskier's silk against their skin before following his directions. “Pull that arm chair out of the corner, set it at the end of the bed. Try not to talk if you can, don't want to interrupt the mood.”

By the time it was done and they settled in—Eskel across Geralt's lap, naturally—the door opened again and Lambert appeared, towel wrapped around his waist. Quick eyes surveyed what Jaskier had laid out for him, then flicked to Geralt and Eskel with front row seats. “They're watching?” Lambert asked.

“Yes.” Jaskier moved in close, hand brushing across Lambert's throat. His eyes fluttered a little, cock twitching against Jaskier's side. “Is that alright? They won't touch unless I say.” Lambert nodded. “Good.” He pressed a kiss to Lambert's adam's apple before giving his ass a little swat. “Get on the bed, my wolf.”

Limbs loose and relaxed from the shower, Lambert did as he was told, laying in the middle of the bed, eyes trained on Jaskier. Jaskier followed, grabbing the cuffs and straddling his chest. “Arms up.” Lambert lifted his arms and Jaskier put the cuffs on, kissing each wrist before sliding them into place. “Comfortable?” A nod and Jaskier clipped them together, then pushed Lambert's arms back on the bed. He had half a mind to install a ring at the top of the headboard... another thought for another day. “They stay there.” He pushed them down into the mattress for a second, driving home the point before sliding off, off Lambert, off the bed completely.

He stood at the end of the bed, almost close enough to brush against Eskel and Geralt, but his eyes and his attention completely focused on Lambert. Yellow eyes gazed back. Jaskier slid a finger under the waist band of his boxers, pulling it away from his skin. Lambert inhaled quickly, scenting the air. It was faint, but he definitely smelled Jaskier's arousal on the air, mixing together with the musky lust pouring off Geralt and Eskel, it was a smell he was used to, but not in this context, not anymore.

Jaskier pushed the silk boxers down just far enough to reveal his cock and the top of his sac, wrapping one hand lightly around the shaft. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem to believe I can't take care of myself.” Lambert heard the trap in those words and bit his tongue, his eyes closely watching Jaskier's hand as it started slowly sliding up his own cock. “I assure you, I can, and you're going to watch me do it.” Jaskier let go of his cock and let the silk slip down to the floor, stepping out of the material and kneeling on the bed again.

Lambert spread his thighs, offering the space between them for Jaskier to occupy. With an arched eyebrow and a small chuckle, Jaskier sat between Lambert's spread legs, hand on his cock again. “Didn't think you'd want such an up close view, but that's fine.” Squirting a bit of lube into his hand, Jaskier started stroking in earnest now. Lambert bit his lip, toes curling into the bed, fingers clenching as he tried not to squirm. “Believe me,” Jaskier said. “I'd much rather have your hand on my cock. Or your mouth. Or your ass.”

The squishing noises from the lube were far too loud in the quiet room, making sure Lambert heard every single stroke if he wasn't already watching Jaskier's hand like his life depended on it. His cock twitched and drooled on his stomach and Jaskier smiled. “I'd much rather be touching your cock as well, there is no greater pleasure for me in this world than bringing you off, hearing you say my name as you come. But we can't do that now. You need to see that I can do very well on my own, thank you.”

There were no more words now, not from Jaskier. Lambert squirmed a little when a fat drop of precome made it's way over Jaskier's head, over his fingers before getting lost in the shine from the lube. “Please,” Lambert whispered. “I know you can take care of yourself.”

Jaskier leaned forward, his skin inches away from Lambert's quivering chest. He was very careful not to touch. “Do you now?”

“Yes. I do.” Lambert almost arched up, Jaskier saw it in the tension of his stomach. But he stayed put, arms exactly where Jaskier placed them, body still besides a few wiggling toes. Good enough.

“Good,” Jaskier whispered. He squeezed his cock tight, speeding up, pushing himself over. He kept his eyes open to watch the streaks of come painting Lambert's chest, working until every last drop covered him. Lambert moaned as the fluid started to cool, enjoying the smell of Jaskier absolutely covering him.

Jaskier leaned back and tried not to fall off the bed, but it was a close call. “You can talk,” he said.

“Fuck,” Geralt whispered. He turned around to see Geralt's hand shoved down the front of Eskel's jock, one of the straps half shoved off his hip. “That's... more intense than you used to be. Fuck, Jaskier.”

He smirked and stepped off the bed, regaining his balance a little. “Jaskier,” Lambert moaned. He was still on the bed covered in spend, arms over his head, exactly where he was told to stay. “Can they... I want them.”

Jaskier lay down next to Lambert, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, but still not touching, they weren't done yet. “What do you want, my wolf?”

He nodded towards the end of the bed, Geralt stroking Eskel, both of them looking at him with hunger in their eyes. “I want their come on me too. Can I have it?”

When he invited the others in, Jaskier didn't plan for them to participate. The added presence was to force the lesson home for them all—Jaskier was a grown up, he didn't need any of them sneaking around to solve his problems—but if Lambert wanted, who was he to deny? “Did you learn the lesson? You don't get rewarded until you learn.”

“You don't need me to do things for you,” he whispered.

Jaskier ducked down and rewarded Lambert with a kiss, filthy and wet, sticking his tongue in and claiming is mouth. With Lambert thusly occupied, he beckoned the others over. As soon as the bed dipped, he broke the kiss, letting Lambert take in their new arrangement. Geralt sat between his spread legs, hand on his already leaking cock, while Eskel lounged on the other side of the bed. None of them touched, they seemed to understand Jaskier didn't want that yet.

While Jaskier was nineteen and in possession of a prodigious amount of come, he could never compare to a Witcher. He watched Geralt stroke himself, rope after rope of spunk covering Lambert's cock and pubes until they were white. That heavy gaze didn't waver as he stepped back and let Eskel take his place, all three of them covering Lambert.

As filthy as he'd ever been, Lambert couldn't help but moan at each new dollop on his skin. Just watching his mouth go slack, eyes wide and black made Jaskier hard again. When Eskel pulled away, retreating to the chair with Geralt, Jaskier took up the lube again. “You want a little more?” he asked, pressing two fingers inside.

“Yes.” Under the sea of come across his chest and stomach, a red flush crept up to Lambert's neck, his cock almost purple with the need for his own climax.

While Jaskier enjoyed teasing Lambert with his fingers, warming him up and making him squirm, the veritable puddle across his body made him think Lambert was warmed up enough. He slicked his cock and sank in, hand wrapping around Lambert's cock, covered in Geralt's spend. He started stroking, matching his thrusts. “Wrap your legs around me.” The words were barely out of his mouth when Lambert's legs slid into place, holding on for dear life.

After watching Jaskier, _and_ Geralt _and_ Eskel, Lambert was on a hair trigger. A few firm strokes had him arching, moaning, adding more to the mess covering him. The new addition overflowed the pool in his navel and a few drops started rolling down his side, staining the sheets. Lambert moaned and bucked as he came, and all the while, he kept his hands where Jaskier told him to. Jaskier had to admire that sort of obedience, he always had with Lambert.

As it was his second orgasm of the night, Jaskier took a while to build up. He fucked Lambert through his climax, and the shivery sensitivity that followed. But he was never too much, Lambert took everything Jaskier had for him, it was beautiful, just another way each of his wolves were oh so special to him. Jaskier came staring down at Lambert's lovely face, thoughts of how fucking lucky he was filling his mind.

He almost collapsed forward, then remembered the (probably) gallon of come covering Lambert. “Eskel,” he asked weakly. “Can you get us a towel?”

After they cleaned up and had another shower, Jaskier curled around Lambert until he came back down to earth, they ate dinner and planned. They all just got Jaskier back, and now he was headed to Oxenfurt. It had to happen, it was good, but yet another readjustment they had to make to their strange lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I hate the elven calendar the Witcher uses. Skyrim is weird, but at least they had like solid months like "Morning Star," or "First Seed," and the date was given as 3rd of First Seed... not a perfect system, but at least I knew Skyrim counted their days. What am I supposed to do with the Witcher? Where it's divided into eight "parts" and the only solid days seem to be Midsummer and Yule... So I'll basically be making up a lot about Oxenfurt's schedule. If someone knows more about how their calendar structure works, please let me know.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving into place like they'd done a hundred times, Eskel hooked a hand around Jaskier's elbow and stood him next to Lambert, who quickly wrapped an arm around his hips, shoving in close. Geralt squinted at them, considering the pose and Eskel moved over a little without asking, making space for him to stand between Eskel and Jaskier, a hand on each.
> 
> Setting the timer on the camera, Geralt ran into his spot, quickly pulling Jaskier and Eskel where he wanted. Jaskier smiled, but he knew the others would go for “stoic and aloof” like all the other pictures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is: sexy, hopeful, sad, and hopeful again, in that order. And it's a big sad, emotional big sad, no one's getting gutted on the way to Oxenfurt.
> 
> Thank you for everyone who talked to me about the elven calendar and how weird it is, I do appreciate it. As far as Oxenfurt goes, I am familiar with how American colleges and universities work, so I'll be working off that template. After Christmas/New Year break is the start of Spring semester/term. That's when Jaskier is starting, so it's like late January-ish here. I will get more into the schedule I completely made up in the next part of this series (which is very Oxenfurt heavy) but for now, I think that's a good point to rest it at.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read so far, staying with me as I try to modernize the Continent. I hope you've enjoyed reading, and I definitely hope everyone enjoys the rest of the series as well <3

Oxenfurt Academy was big, beautiful, young Jaskier couldn't contain his awe when he came with his mother years ago. They just learned about the first Jaskier from his gran and decided to take a family trip. His dad and siblings were much more interested in the beaches, leaving Jaskier and his mother to tour the Academy by themselves. The old stone facades rebuilt a dozen times over the centuries were all magnificent, the art, the stained glass, all breathtaking. At the end of their tour, after they perused the library for works from the first Jaskier, he proudly announced “One day, I'm going to be a bard.”

Well, bards weren't really a thing anymore. Bardic tradition, yes, publishing books of songs and poems for others to sing and enjoy, that was very much alive and well, most great musicians started off as songwriters gaining attention through their published volumes, but traveling bards were a thing of the past. Yet Jaskier had the soul of a traveling bard. _Was_ the soul of a traveling bard... At any rate, here he was, off to Oxenfurt to gain the training and connections he'd need to live his dreams all over again. Exactly what those dreams were still eluded him.

While Jaskier fretted over what the seven liberal arts meant in today's world, Geralt spent days sulking, immune to Eskel and Lambert's attempts to cheer him up. “We just got you back...” Geralt whispered into Jaskier's neck the night before they set off.

Hair cascading down around his shoulders, Jaskier buried his face in the curtain of white. “You'll come see me. You promised.” They all wanted Jaskier to go to school, the reality of leaving just hit them a little hard is all.

They made his last few days at home special. Eskel made a literal ton of food, lavish five course dinners every night; creamy potato soup, garlic crusted rack of lamb, thick cheesecake with home made chocolate drizzle, Jaskier was so full, he had to open his belt three nights in a row. Geralt and Lambert tried to fill up on Jaskier's attention before he left—Geralt by fucking Jaskier in the bathhouse, Lambert by walking around in his sexy underwear, begging to be fucked whenever and wherever Jaskier pleased.

Sprawled across the living room sofa, Jaskier had one hand on Lambert's firm ass, the other on his too full stomach. The one downside to Eskel's cooking... “I'm sorry, my wolf,” he groaned. “I'm afraid I can't for a few hours. I'll have you before bed, I promise.”

“Mmm,” Geralt grumbled from the other couch. His eyes skated over Lambert, while Jaskier liked him wandering around the house in his underwear, he rarely wore his backless pairs outside the bedroom, tonight was a rare treat. Jaskier saw the heat in Geralt's eyes and nudged Lambert to turn, showing the White Wolf what he had to offer. “If you're too full, can I have him?” Geralt purred.

“Hmm...” They hadn't played like this before. Yes, Geralt and Eskel were present at times, but they hardly touched and were little more than voyeurs, an audience for Jaskier to show Lambert off to. But passing him around, using Geralt as an extension of his care for Lambert... that might be something to explore. His stomach ache forgotten for the moment, Jaskier turned Lambert around again, curling one hand possessively around his backside, fingers sliding up his cleft. “Would you like Geralt to take you while I watch? I'd enjoy it.”

Lambert let out a shuddering breath. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

Jaskier gave his ass a little swat. “Go on then, he's waiting.”

Geralt already had his cock out, boxers stolen from Eskel now hanging around his ankle. Lambert went to kneel in front of him and Geralt shook his head. “Lube,” he said. Lambert retrieved the closest bottle (side table three feet away, fuck, Jaskier should do an inventory) and handed it to Geralt. He wrapped one hand around Lambert's ass, slick fingers probing his hole.

“Fuck,” Lambert growled, and let himself be pulled forward. Geralt mouthed at his cock through the fabric of his jock, leaving wet trails along the front.

Once Lambert was open and slick, Geralt squirted more lube across his cock, working it down the shaft, eyes not leaving Lambert's. He adjusted, moving to kneel on the couch, legs wide. “Why don't you remind Jaskier how flexible you are?” he purred.

Jaskier shifted. His interest in their activities shooting up from keen to burning. _That's right_ , he thought to himself, _School of the Cat training had its uses..._ Pain in his stomach forgotten, Jaskier adjusted himself, cock suddenly very hard.

With a smirk far too smug, Lambert turned around and slowly sank down on Geralt's lap, spearing himself open on that beast of a cock. He groaned as Geralt slid in and took a moment to seat himself before leaning back. Geralt wrapped his arms around Lambert, holding him steady flush to his chest. Jaskier's eyes went wide as Lambert extended one leg along the couch... then the other. With his eyes on Jaskier and his legs extended into a split, Lambert leaned forward and placed his hands on the floor.

Head down, Jaskier's eyes traveled up the line of his back, to Geralt squeezing his ass cheeks, thumbs brushing over the sides of his exposed hole. Given the position, Jaskier didn't think Lambert would get much of a pounding. He was incorrect. So many reminders around him everyday, and he still forgot about the inhuman grace and strength of a Witcher. Holding tight to Lambert's hips, Geralt snapped forward. Braced against the floor, Lambert pushed back, meeting each slapping thrust. Jaskier could barely breathe, watching them like this—growling, grunting, teeth gnashing—it was nothing like what Eskel and Geralt did together, all slow kisses and deep, powerful thrusts. Jaskier made a mental note: have Geralt fuck Lambert more often, they both clearly got something unique from it.

Lambert came with a growl, filling the tight front of his jock, bent forward as he was, a little started running out the waist band and Jaskier thought he might have a stroke from the sheer eroticism of that sight. Geralt came a moment later, thrusting one last time before helping Lambert up and out of the split. He grabbed Lambert again before he had a chance to catch his breath and threw him over the arm of the couch, tongue laving his hole, licking away what he just left inside. Lambert shuddered and moaned, over sensitive but loving every second. Hips rutted against the arm of the couch and Geralt didn't stop until he came again, pressing one last kiss to his cheeks before letting Lambert collapse back into his lap.

He arranged them on the sofa, spooning behind Lambert so Jaskier could see them both, one arm around his chest to hold him steady. “Stroke his hair,” Jaskier instructed as he pulled his cock out. The pain in his stomach was a trifle compared to the ache in his balls and the need to empty them across Lambert's lovely skin. He'd settled for coming with his eyes on Lambert. “He likes that after.”

Geralt did as asked, stroking Lambert's hair until he purred, eyes misty and far away. “Can I lick him?” Geralt asked, voice barely a whisper.

“Yes,” Jaskier said.

Geralt pressed soft kisses and licks up the back of Lambert's neck, rubbing against his cheek and scenting his skin. A memory of his visits to Kaer Morhen flashed behind Jaskier's eyes. As soon as they entered, Eskel and Lambert ran to Geralt, pushing in close and inhaling deep. Lambert always brushed his close cut beard across Geralt's neck, leaving a bit of beard burn, which earned him a glare and a swat, but they never meant it. They didn't do it the first year Jaskier stayed—didn't trust the new guest—but after he shared their beds and their love, they let their walls down and allowed Jaskier see one of the rituals of coming home.

The tenderness after watching that growling, athletic fuck was too much for Jaskier and he came, groaning as he watched Lambert's blissful face, a curtain of white hair over his shoulder. Once he came back to himself, Jaskier helped Geralt clean Lambert and get him into bed, pushing him in next to Eskel.

Eskel closed his book and wrapped an arm around Lambert's spaced out form. “You seemed like you were having a moment, I didn't want to interrupt.”

“Yes,” Jaskier whispered and slid into bed after them, cupping Lambert's face in his hands. “It was quite a moment. One I'm definitely interested in revisiting.”

After a few more nights of vigorous sex to say goodbye, they loaded up the Scout with Jaskier's lute and his meager clothing. Before they set off, Jaskier's ass already half way on the front seat, Geralt shouted, “Wait!”

Jaskier blinked as he ran back into the house, far too fast for a man his size, it wasn't fair. He looked into the back, he had his lute, bag of clothes and a few boxes of books and other knickknacks he managed to accumulate over the past few months, he didn't have many possessions yet and couldn't imagine forgetting anything. “What's he doing?” he asked Eskel, who was leaning on the back of the Scout. “We didn't forget anything, I'm positive.”

“He wants to take a picture,” Lambert grumbled, bumping his head lightly against the roof of the Scout. Geralt emerged from the house again, camera in his hand, tripod thrown over his shoulder. “We just did this,” Lambert sighed.

“Yes, nine months ago before we set out for the season. And we didn't have Jaskier. One photo a year is all I ask.” Deft hands set up the tripod and stupidly expensive camera. Judging by the endless photo albums containing family pictures and snaps around Corvo Bianco, Geralt didn't take the camera out on The Path with him, he only used it in winter when they were all home.

Moving into place like they'd done a hundred times, Eskel hooked a hand around Jaskier's elbow and stood him next to Lambert, who quickly wrapped an arm around his hips, shoving in close. Geralt squinted at them, considering the pose and Eskel moved over a little without asking, making space for him to stand between Eskel and Jaskier, a hand on each.

Setting the timer on the camera, Geralt ran into his spot, quickly pulling Jaskier and Eskel where he wanted. “Look at the camera. Lambert, no bunny ears, you're only allowed to do that to Eskel.” Jaskier smiled, but he knew the others would go for “stoic and aloof” like all the other pictures. He leaned his head onto Geralt's shoulder, pulling Lambert in a little closer. Geralt counted down. “Three, two, one.” The camera clicked and Geralt set it up for another photo, just in case.

Once they were done, he packed up the camera and took it back inside. When he returned, he scowled at them. “We're done, in the car. Let's move.”

Again, Lambert grumbled and slid into the back seat next to Jaskier. “Out of the car, into the car, make up your mind...”

They pulled out of the courtyard and stopped just beyond the gates. Eskel didn't trust motion sensors, so they were manual. He got out to close them and quickly sealed the lock with a spell. Eskel's magic had grown so much over the years, he was basically a mage at this point. While he lacked the specific training of a mage, he had enough books on magic to learn any spell he wanted. It made eternity less boring, and their home a little safer.

When they set off again, Jaskier turned to look back. The dull gates weren't quite the final sight he wanted, but he knew he was being silly. He wasn't leaving forever, only a few months, he'd be back home for Belleteyn break in the summer, not long at all...

Smelling the hint of sadness rising from his skin, Lambert threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, holding Jaskier until the gentle rock of the Scout lulled him into a doze.

And now here they were, completely unloaded, all of his things in his new single room. While Jaskier drew the line at them paying for his entire Oxenfurt tuition (which Lambert found a way around) he didn't mind them arranging for a single room. After all, he planned to have them all visit whenever they wanted, couldn't very well fuck three Witchers with a roommate.

“You got everything?” Geralt asked. Eyes cast down, he wouldn't look at Jaskier. That wouldn't do at all.

Stepping in close, Jaskier tipped his chin up until their eyes met. “I'm a phone call away. I'll talk to you so much, and you can visit whenever. Hell, you three can stay in town for a bit if you like, help me break in my new bed...”

Eskel and Lambert appeared behind Geralt, each wrapping an arm around him to pull him back. “Don't give him that offer, he'll never leave,” Eskel said.

But Jaskier wasn't ready to let them go yet. Pulling them all back inside, he closed the door and pushed Geralt against it. “Before you go, I wanted to...” It was Jaskier's turn to look down, focusing on Geralt's chest rather than those too beautiful eyes. “I remember, when we were apart, you didn't mind if I... and I didn't mind if you...” He bit his lip. How did one tell their polyamorous partners they only wanted to fuck the three of them? Seemed they missed the boat on that already... “I used to be with other people, when we weren't together. I don't want to do that again. I want this to stay between us.”

The past was a very different place. Away from them for months at a time, practically living for winter some years. When Jaskier got lonely, he found company, or _bought_ company, and they did the same. Now, there were cell phones, airplanes, freaking video calls. If he really wanted, if the ache in his heart to see them really was too much to handle, he could call them up in a second and hear their beautiful voices, or even hop on a plane. The heavy black card Geralt insisted he have sat in his wallet like a stone for months, but now he saw it for the gift it was. Their lives were no longer measured by the coppers they saved to buy a hot bath or a good meal. The only thing they had to worry about were the monsters of the world, and even that fell by the wayside a bit. There was no reason in Jaskier's mind that stopped them from being his only love. It's what he wanted all those years ago and now he finally had it. They had him, body and soul.

He felt a nose in his hair and warm breath on his neck, Eskel. “Are you sure? We won't mind.” Lambert made a noise and Geralt jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. “You're in school, it's a time for exploration, meeting new people—”

“Fuck that.” Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Yes, I'm in school, I also have the memories of a ninety-five year old man. I've lived that life already and in this one, I only want you three.” Jaskier nodded, putting an end to the discussion. “Now go, leave before I start crying.”

They all kissed him goodbye, Lambert leaning in close and whispering, “We only want you as well,” and sneaking one last kiss. Jaskier watched them all walk down the hall, he watched until they disappeared through a door and he was alone, for perhaps the first time in months.

Slumping back on his bed, Jaskier let himself cry for only five minutes. He had to get going to orientation after all, but his emotions were too raw now. Less than a year ago, he was working in his family diner, dreaming of attending Oxenfurt Academy and spreading his songs across the Continent. Well, here he fucking was. “This is what you want,” he whispered to himself. _But you want them as well_ , the voice in the back of his head whispered back. “We've been apart before. They can take care of themselves.”

Pep talk over, Jaskier dried his tears and gathered his new school bag—a beautiful leather satchel with a small wolf head in the corner of the flap, a gift from them all—and headed to orientation.

He got his class schedule and a brief tour of the campus. The seven liberal arts had been modernized a bit, no longer grammar, logic, rhetoric, arithmetic, geometry, music and astronomy. Now, Jaskier was set to study language arts, mathematics, dance, music, history, geography, and language—one ancient, one modern. Language arts broke down into many classes: poetry, modern literature, ancient literature, writing. Jaskier looked at his schedule excitedly, some of his anxiety slipping away.

He went to dinner in the dining hall (it looked just like he remembered, the long wooden tables, old stone walls, with the small addition of an ice cream machine in the corner) and a little more of his home sickness started to ebb away. He decided to call his mother once he got back to his room and told her about his schedule. She was so proud.

“Oxenfurt! Like you've always wanted.”

“Yes, like I've always wanted.”

After hanging up with his mum, Jaskier stared at his phone. They'd still be driving, probably no where near home, he shouldn't bother them...

He dialed Geralt's number anyway. Eskel picked up. “Geralt's driving, you're on speaker. How was orientation?”

“Good, it was good. I'm excited for my poetry classes.”

“You don't sound excited.” Fucking Eskel, seeing through him even over the phone. “It's alright to miss us, we miss you.”

“We really do,” Lambert's voice crackled over the shitty speaker phone. “That doesn't mean you shouldn't have fun. Go to parties, get drunk. Go—hey, Geralt, what?”

Sounds of the Scout slowing, pulling off the road. Jaskier waited as the phone got passed around and Geralt's voice joined the call. “Ignore the old man in your head, the one who says you already know everything Oxenfurt has to teach you. This is your life, Jaskier, not his. I hate to see you go, but we're not going anywhere. We've been in the same spot for seven hundred years, we will be here whenever you want us.”

A tear rolled down his cheek and he wiped it away quickly. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I'll get used to it again. We used to spend months apart in the old days.”

“Yes, we did.”

The phone was passed around again and the car started. “Want me to send you dirty pictures?” Lambert asked. “I can do it, I'll take a picture of my cock for you right now.”

Jaskier laughed, wiping at the tears. He wouldn't allow any more to spill tonight. “Maybe not right now. When you get home, definitely. I want texts, calls, keep me updated. Especially if you get impatient with retirement and decide to go out again.”

“We won't, not yet,” Eskel said, a little unconvincingly. “We always spend at least a full year retired. You'll be home for Belleteyn, we'll be waiting.”

They talked for a little longer before Jaskier had to get ready for bed. While none of his classes were early, he was too accustomed to his warm bed filled with Witchers and had more than a few lay-ins over the last few months. Had to give himself extra time to find rest in this new room. Just before Jaskier closed his eyes, he got a text from Lambert, a picture of him and Geralt squished together in the back of the Scout, Eskel's dark head of hair visible over top of the seat.

 _Love you_ , the message said.

How long had he waited for those words the first time around? It took Geralt almost two decades to mumble anything close, and Eskel and Lambert were always guarded with their emotions at first. And here they were, whispering _those_ words in his ear every morning and every night, texting them with adorable pictures. How much his wolves had changed over the years.

Yet how much was still the same? They were strong, loyal defenders of those who couldn't defend themselves. History cast them aside again and again, yet they were still here, trying to protect those who might not want their help. They were the same Witchers Jaskier fell in love with so long ago, the same men who crowded around his bed as he slipped off to sleep for the last time.

Remembering one's deathbed was a bit harrowing, but when that particular memory hit, Jaskier didn't focus on the cold in his hands or the weakness in his chest as his heart beat its last, he focused on six golden eyes watching him, three sets of ears tuned to his every heart beat and breath. They were away on a contract when he started to decline and Triss portaled them back. Given how much Geralt hated portals, it really was a testament to how much they loved him that they'd simply hop inside one at the drop of a hat. They sat around his bed for two days, removing their armor but they wouldn't leave him for any other reason. The shadow of road dirt on Eskel's neck, the sweaty smell on Lambert... they wouldn't leave him, not until he left them.

“I love you,” he remembered whispering, always three times. “I love you, I love you.”

They all thought him too fragile to climb into bed next to him, and Jaskier watched them tremble with the want to touch him with dimming eyes. The fire was so bright a moment ago, but now the world had a soft focus around it. A shock of white hair and two golden eyes hovered in front of his face, lips he'd kissed a million times so close.

Jaskier wanted to speak, but he was so tired. He thought the words to himself as he closed his eyes, _eyes, look your last_. Strong arms curled around him, _arms, take your last embrace_. The soft press of lips against his made him sigh, _the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss_.

It was a good death. Not exciting or dangerous, at the jaws of some beast, but warm and loved, surrounded by those he loved the most. As he got older, Jaskier remembered thinking he couldn't have asked for a better life... and now, Destiny gave him one anyway. A good life, a good death, and now a chance to have both again.

Jaskier closed his eyes and hugged a pillow to his chest. It was one from Lambert's room, covered in his thick, masculine scent from all those times Jaskier threw him down on the bed, wringing groans and shuddering moans from that strong body. He left all his silk at home—robes, pajamas, boxers, the whole lot—for them to touch and rub whenever they missed him. Jaskier wondered who'd be the first to break down and hang one of the robes at the head of their bed, letting Jaskier's scent fall across their faces in the night.

He'd see them soon, for breaks and such. Lambert was the only one halfway useful with technology and he picked up video calling easy enough. They weren't stranded on opposite sides of the Continent like in the old days. He'd call them tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. He only just got them back, but Eskel was right, Jaskier needed to be at Oxenfurt for a while, needed to connect with another part of his soul that wasn't filled with Witchers.

He rolled over and tried to sleep, Lambert's pillow still clutched to his chest. He had classes tomorrow, and even though no one here knew he was _that_ Jaskier, he was going to fucking blow them away like he did the first time around. _Oxenfurt_ , he thought as he drifted off to sleep, _prepare yourself_.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to modernize the Continent, and while I'm importing a little American culture and the culture of our world in general, I wanted to give the Continent its own feel. Hopefully the mix will produce a world that seems similar, but still a little strange and fantastical.
> 
> I'm keeping "bardic tradition." Bards are a big part of the Witcher games/universe and I imagine something like that would stick over the years, like in our world, the idea of a patron of the arts has shifted from a king or noble footing all the money, to a larger group supporting an artist with small amounts; the idea is the same, has been for centuries. So while musicians don't randomly travel the roads anymore, they do release books of songs (Dandelion has a line in TW3 "I will get a whole book of ballads out of this!" which is what led me to this idea) and that is part of what Jaskier's going to do... eventually... in part 2.


End file.
